Keep Calm and Carry On
by Not Harry
Summary: Live. Recover. Atone. What must be done after War? RxHr HxG DxAs
1. First Day of My Life

**A/N: Hey everyone, this is my post-war fan fiction. It will follow the main pairing; Ginry, Romione, Drastoria. It will be much more serious than Red Queen, it won't be all doom-gloom, but Hermione isn't fucking Ron's brains out every chapter either. I want to follow it until just before Rose gets on that train. **

**As always, reviews and comments are important and highly requested.**

****First Day of My Life- Bright Eyes****

_And you said "this is the first day of my life  
>I'm glad I didn't die before I met you<br>But now I don't care I could go anywhere with you  
>And I'd probably be happy"<em>

**Chapter 1**

**Ron Weasley**

**9 May 1998 **

**11:36AM**

There's a cold feeling in your heart when you're at a funeral service. No matter whether the person were your whole world or just some bloke you met only once or twice. Ron was aware of this now, an icy claw dug into his aorta. His reddened eyes trained on his brother's casket as it was being lowered by magic into the Orchard's damp, mucky earth.

The sky above was a sickly gray, heavy clouds only holding rain out of respect for the dead. He could hear the chirping of birds off in the tree line, just audible over the muffled cries of his family, friends, and strangers. The usual sweet smell of apple blossoms in spring, which wafted through the thick, heavy air, was a cruel reminder of nature's indifference to the occasion. The flowers casually watched and shook in the brief gusts of wind.

As a casket-bearer, he stood right at the edge of the grave as the _Wingardium Leviosa _was cast. The damp earth seemed like an angry maw, the morbid fascination flashing in his mind, bidding for him to follow behind. The speech from Interim Minister Shacklebolt, wherein he praised the bravery of those they had lost, was lost on him, he drew little comfort from the thought that Fred had died courageously. He was still dead. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the inappropriate thoughts.

He looked up to survey the crowd, easily one or two-hundred strong, his eyes rested on George. His usually light-brown eyes were glazed and distant, his face powdered with ginger stubble, his red hair matted down with mud and grease, his shirt only half done, tie askew and his dark brown jacket falling from one shoulder. He had refused to be a casket-bearer when asked by Bill; no one had brought it up to him since. Ron wanted to help, but he knew he wasn't in any better of a place, and he was more likely to muck it up further. His eyes continued to scan the crowd.

Harry was standing with Ginny and Hermione, gently rubbing his sister's back as she cried. Harry couldn't hide the tears that were welling in his eyes as well, not now, not when he saw the pain and death he had 'caused.' This hurt Harry more than any of the other visitors, all these people that died for his sake, most of whom he would never know. But he'd probably spend his entire life trying; carving more names into the cross he bore.

Ron turned his attention to Hermione, who was watching him while trying to stifle her tears. They fell despite her will, despite her British-style stiff upper-lip. Her right hand was absently rubbing her left forearm. She had taken to doing that now, when she was anxious. It worried Ron, he didn't want her to fixate on the horrible things Lestrange had done to her, but once again he was more afraid to speak up.

The service ended. The crowd began to break off like flecks of stone. Ron felt his father's warm hand on his shoulders and began to push him along. Percy had done the same for George, though with more force and a more reluctant subject. Suddenly a flash of realization was upon George's face as some men began to shovel dirt into the grave. George tore his arms away from Percy's grasp, dashing for the grave. Ron turned to try to stop him, but he was too late.

George had jumped down the hole, screaming and crying as he tried to tear open the box. The lid was charmed shut, but George kept clawing at it like a mad hippogriff. He screamed bloody murder. 'Don't leave me. Not yet. I need you' he yelled. Ron could see the blood began to spill from George's finger-tips, marking the coffin with a wild rust-brown crochet of crisscrosses. George eventually broke down, unable to claw, only clutching at the smooth, varnished pine, trying to hold on to something.

Charlie jumped down, his experience with dragons helped him wrangle his bewildered brother and push him up to Bill and Percy who carried him away. Ron was tasked to stand behind, wand at the ready in-case George was able to make another run for it. But except for a few pained cries, George had accepted his fate; to be without his other half for eternity. He seemed like another dead body, Ron thought to himself.

* * *

><p>People were invited into the Burrow for refreshments; thin sandwiches and bitter coffee. Ron and Percy descended the stairs after helping Bill put George to bed. Bill said he'd stay with him, so Percy and Ron went back downstairs to help their mother get through the festivities. Ron could sense tension radiating from his brother. Before he could ask what was on his mind, Percy spoke up as they both stood at the threshold to the sitting area, though not one person was sitting; they were chatting and eating or drinking, milling about or telling stories about the dead. If it weren't for the context and the muffled volume, one would think it were an awful house warming party. And it was, a house warming for life without Fred.<p>

"Do you think that George will be okay?"

"'Okay' is a lot to ask of most people right now, Percy. We'll just be there for him, that's all we can do for now."

"I guess you're right, I'll go help Mom in the kitchen, yeah?"

"I'll check –in soon, maybe see how Ginny's holding up."

Ron veered his way through a cluster of mourners, excusing his movement as he did. Percy watched his brother out of the corner of his eye; he seemed like an entirely different man, Percy thought. He was wrong of course, Ron was Ron. He sat down on the couch, hoping to decompress a little before checking on his little sister. Hopefully, he wouldn't find her in a compromising position, he trusted Harry and he trusted Ginny, he didn't trust them together. He heard someone clear their throat, he looked up to find Neville, crutches in hand.

"Uh, hey Neville, take a seat. Your leg bothering you?" Ron moved down so his friend could sit.

"Thanks, no, it doesn't hurt. Pomfrey didn't run out of Calming Draught at least. The splint's not too bad, I might just do this the muggle way. How are you getting on?"

"Better, I was pretty bad off a couple of days ago, but I just knew I had to be there for everyone else. I mean, Harry's lost people before and each one tears him up inside but he moves past it. I miss Fred, but I could have lost more, so much more. We all could have…"

"Ron, it hurts when you lose family, I know that. I still go to St. Mungo's to see my parents when I have time, they probably have no idea what I'm doing there or who I am. You don't 'move past' this kind of thing, Ron, you move with it. Try to remember that."

Ron sat in silence, smoothing his pants leg. He had almost forgotten what Neville had lost long ago. That was probably worse; to not only lose someone but to have them lose you as well. He brought his hands to his face, sighed, removed his hands and turned to Neville.

"Things can change a lot in a year or two."

"Yeah, they sure can."

They changed the subject to Quidditch. Mainly discussing how the Holyhead Harpies were moving to accept men and making predictions of how awful the Cannons would be the next season. Neville said they might win two matches, Ron said they could squeak out four or five. Ron forgot to check on his sister entirely.

**Harry Potter**

Seventy-four.

Seventy-four confirmed dead at the Battle of Hogwarts, as that day's copy of the Prophet reported. That number would probably double by the next day. Triple even. He had known people would get hurt. They were bound to, because of him. But it felt worse to hear, to read. To say a number and represent a veritable crowd of people, it felt disrespectful in a way, to have that much loss and suffering quantified and marked in a ledger. Then only for it be written in the next volume of _Hogwarts: A History_ and memorized by school children. He'd ask that the entire list be put in a glossary, that's the least he could do.

People came up to him, often, asking for a handshake or autograph on a chocolate frog card, but sometimes someone would run up and begin to accuse him of taking their son or daughter, father or mother, sibling or lover. He'd watch as the tears streamed down their angry face, he'd hold out his hand and invite them to tell him about their loss, over a Butterbeer or a cup of tea. That's really all he could do now, he may have killed the most fearsome man to have ever held a wand, but he was just a scared boy. Sometimes he wondered what he hadn't been a wizard, if he wasn't Harry Potter. If he was just some guy from Westminster, he'd be fretting over University or getting a job or meeting a nice girl. That seemed to be all he had going for him, Ginny and his 'family.'

After they had won and the Golden Trio had settled back into the Burrow, he would sit up until all hours of the night in Ginny's Room, listening to Ginny tell stories about Fred until her voice was hoarse and she couldn't shed another tear, then he'd tuck her into her bed and go off to his cot in Ron's room. As he was doing now, lying above the covers in a Chudley Cannons shirt and pajama bottoms he was borrowing from Ron. But that night was different, the night after the funeral. He rolled over to leave, but he felt a tug on his shirt. He looked back, thinking that he was caught under Ginny's arm. Then he heard Ginny's hoarse whisper.

"Please, Harry. Stay tonight. I-I need you."

Harry thought to refuse, to say that it was improper, that her family would kill him in the morning. But each thought was thrown away with no decorum as he pulled away the sheet and slid underneath. His heart began to pound as he felt Ginny bring her arms across him, as her breasts pressed against his shoulder through a thread-bare Holyhead Harpies' tee. He didn't have to worry long, as her breath picked a slow, light rhythm; she had fallen asleep. Harry ran his fingers over a shiny scar on her back that peeked out from under her shirt. He quietly followed her, not fearing anything in that moment; Weasley, death eater, or otherwise.

* * *

><p>"Bloody Hell! Get out of my sister's bed, Potter!"<p>

Harry sat up from the mattress, disoriented as it was the first time in about a month he had slept through the night. Realizing where he was and who was yelling at him, he reached for his glasses. He put them on slowly, hoping the gesture would help show his innocence.

"Ron, w-we didn't do anything like you're thinking. She asked me to sleep with her and that's all we did." Harry looked over at Ginny, who was still asleep despite the disturbance.

"Yeah, I'm sure…" Ron said, still angry but he was over the initial shock. "Can you get out of her bed now?"

Harry began to get out of the bed but then he realized he couldn't, the bane of every teenage boy's existence, morning wood. He sighed and stood with a hump in his boxers. Ron took it the wrong way, obviously, Harry started explaining right away.

"Come on, Ron. Don't act like you've never had a woody in the morning. I spent months in a tent with you, but you were pitching your own, weren't you?"

"Just get out. I don't want my baby sister to have to see… that." Ron said, motioning towards the door.

Harry exited, his shoulders slightly hunched. He went up to Ron's room to get a pair of slacks on and new shirt. Ron went on ahead to breakfast. He put on a pair of jeans and began to pull a red t-shirt with a faded lion print over his head when he heard a crash down stairs. Harry began a mad dash down the stairs, wand in hand.

"What's wrong? What happened?" He yelled as he reached the kitchen.

"N-nothing, Harry. Mum just set one too many places at the table and she dropped a platter. I already fixed it." Percy said as he ran his hand over his mother's back, trying to calm her as she cried. Ron stood there, as if frozen.

"O-oh, it's a-alright then."

"I-I'm sorry Harry. I dropped the French toast too." Mrs. Weasley said as she wiped a tear from her eye.

"N-no, it's fine, Mum. Do you want me to get everyone else up?" He was at a loss of what to do; he had never been very adept at soothing people. Aragog's burial came to mind and that was when he had luck on his side.

"Let Hermione and George sleep, dear, they need the sleep but get the rest of them up, if you would." Molly said as she gave Percy a hug and returned to the kitchen.

"Right away."

Harry went back up the stairs, going quietly past Ginny's room, going to the second floor, where George and Hermione slept; Hermione was in Bill's old room. As he was about to get on the stairs to the third floor, he heard a door close behind him.

"Morning, Harry." George said, while wearing purple pajama bottoms with a V-neck undershirt.

"Morning, are you feeling alright? Your mom said you could sleep-in if you wanted."

"I am as good as I am going to feel, for a while. Harry, I barely slept a wink. The room reminds me of him too much. I'll just get downstairs for breakfast." George headed for the stairs.

"G-George…", _'I might as well try'_ he thought to himself. "It gets better, you know, losing someone. They're still in here." He pointed to his chest with a weak finger.

George sighed, looked to his slippers and then back to Harry.

"Harry, I appreciate the thought, but you don't know what this is like. I'll be okay… eventually." He went down the stairs to breakfast, the smell of sausage reaching the second floor.

'_He's right. As much as Sirius's death hurt me, I can't even imagine what he must feel.'_ He sighed and got Charlie up with little trouble. Then he went back down to the first floor to get Ginny up. He knocked on the door, just in case she was changing. An anguished groan welcomed him in.

"Wakey, wakey, Ginny." He sang off-key.

"Ungh, Harry?" She said sweeping and collecting her hair before letting it fall to her back.

"Yes, Gin. It's me, breakfast is ready." That got her going, she shot out of her comforter and over to her dresser. She began to take off her shirt, when Harry felt he had to speak up.

"Let me leave first, b-before you start… disrobing." He said as he covered his eyes and began backing towards the door.

"Oh, come now, Harry. It's not like you were never going to see them, you are my boyfriend."

"I just don't think it's proper for me to be standing here while you change. I'll wait for you downstairs." A deep blush was on the 'boy-who-lived''s cheeks.

"Hmm, alright." Ginny went back to changing once Harry had shut the door behind him.

**Hermione Granger**

_Voldemort and his death eaters were approaching the castle. 'Who is that? Who is Hagrid carrying? No. No no no no no no!' As if no one was aware, the snake-faced man opened his mouth wide._

"_Harry Potter… IS DEAD!" A cheer rose in the black-shrouded crowd, in contrast to the silence over taking the beaten and bruised opposition._

_Voldemort opened his welcome to crest-fallen wizards and witches. Not one moved. But she heard the slight scrapping of leather shoes on the rubble, a lanky, awkward-looking youth breaking from the crowd. 'Neville? He wouldn't, it must be a joke.' She silently hoped that her friend had a clever plan._

"_We lost. There's nothing we can do. If you want to die for a cause that lies, dead, in Hagrid's hands, go ahead." Neville said coldly as some low ranking death eaters helped him to their side._

_Slowly, the crowd began to move around her, shuffling ever closer to the Dark Lord. Only a few dozen men and women stood there, a few students she recognized as Muggleborns. 'Mudbloods…' _

"_Show me your loyalty" Voldemort hissed, as hundreds of faceless men and women surrounded each of them._

_One face caught her eye. 'Ron!'_

"_Ro-!"_

"_Avada Kedavra!" Flaming hate in the eyes of the man she loved was the last thing she ever saw._

Hermione sat up in her bed, not minding her hair, and brought her knees to her chest. She cried in her bed, as she had since the day after the battle, she knew it hadn't happened like that. Light had won, '_for now…_' her mind threw in, bringing another round of tears. She eventually got the composure to push herself out of the bed to a stack of clothes, she changed into a new bra and panties set, the old ones were wet from sweat, a pair of jeans that fit loosely, and a blue long-sleeve shirt. She couldn't wear short sleeves, not anymore. Hermione gently touched her left wrist, pain coursing through her as her fingers flew away.

She headed downstairs before the weight of her mind tied her back to bed. Mrs. Weasley was fixing sandwiches, ham and cheese on white with lettuce, in the kitchen. Hermione watched her for a moment, a longing to see her own mother pulling at her heart.

"Can I help you, dearie? You slept in very late, though I suppose after yesterday and being on the run for so long, a good night of sleep is deserved."

"I was wondering where Harry and Ron were."

"Oh, just flying about out there with Ginny. Tell them lunch will be ready soon, if you would dear."

"Of course." Hermione went outside and sure enough Ron and Harry were goofing off dozens of feet in the air.

"Harry, Ron! Lunch will be done any minute." Ron came hurtling down to Earth almost instantly; the mention of food was more than enough to get his attention.

Ron and Harry busily ate, as if they were going back on the run. Hermione forced down two sandwiches, she was still painfully skinny from the months in the wilderness, and her health could be at risk if she didn't regain the weight. Especially with the stress she had been under. Harry was the first to finish as he ate three sandwiches, while Ron was starting his fourth sandwich. Hermione left the table along with Ron, following quietly behind. Ginny had only picked at the bread. She hoped watching them act so care-free would somehow rub off on her.

Harry and Ginny were already up in the air, chasing Pig around the towering structure of the Burrow. Hermione caught Ron's soft blue eyes on her. He didn't draw them away as she caught him unlike when they had been in Hogwarts, no, he let his eyes gently draw themselves over the few remaining curves on her body. A slight shiver ran through her body.

"'Mione, how about you fly with us for a bit? It might make you feel better."

"N-no, no, I hate flying. I'll just watch you."

"I'll hold onto you, Mione, it'll be alright. Please?" Ron gave a big goofy grin, that for some reason set _Grindylows_ loose in Hermoine's stomach.

"F-fine, but if I say I want to get down, you have to let me down." She said as she approached Ron and the old Nimbus he had pulled from the shed.

"Yes, 'Mione…" He exaggerated his exasperation; he understood how uneasy flying made her.

He held the broom between his thighs and allowed Hermione to approach, straddle the handle, and make some adjustments. Ron wrapped his thick arms around her frame, grasping the mahogany just in front of her pelvis. She felt his head come to rest on her shoulder, she heard him take a deep breath. An impulse to shrug him off her shoulder conflicted with one to push herself farther back on the broom, closer to him.

"Alright 'Mione, remember Madam Hooch in first year? What do we say to get off the ground?"

"Up?" she said, uncharacteristically nervous in her speech.

"A little more forceful, so the broom can hear you."

"Ron, the broom can't hear me. It's a broom…"

"Pretend, 'Mione, like it's pretend." Ron said in a slightly strained voice.

"Fine…" She was not amused. She was eighteen years old and much too old to pretend brooms had ears. "Up!" She squeaked as the broom jerked up into the air.

They maintained an altitude just over ten feet in the air, 'Ron must want me to get used to the sensation.' She turned to look over her shoulder to tell Ron he could go a little higher. She froze. His eyes were focused and hard, so unlike his usual warmth, it reminded her of her dream.

"Let me down…" She mumbled.

"Huh?" He said.

"Let me down!" Hermione screamed as she began to try to get out of his grasp.

He slowly descended even as she thrashed against him, threatening to send them tumbling to the ground. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she was sprinting to The Burrow. She had to put distance between herself and Ron. She ran up the stairs, ignoring Mrs. Weasley as she asked 'what's wrong, dearie?' Tears were streaming down her face as she buried herself beneath a pile of sheets, blankets, and an old yellow sweater that must have been Bill's.

She heard Ron enter, his panting breathes and uncertain, shuffling feet were audible even under the bulk over the lithe frame. Hermione wanted to have him embrace her and tell her she'd be alright, but her mind screamed for her to run, that she couldn't let him see her like this.

"'Mione? What's wrong?"

"N-nothing. I-I'm fine, Ron." The tears came back; she hated to lie to him.

"Hermione… Tell me what's wrong. I want to listen."

'_Damn it all… when he'd get to be articulate…'_ She silently pouted.

"Turn the lights low, my hairs all messed, come sit with me." That was only partially true, but mostly she didn't want to see his eyes right now.

She heard the old rusty nob of the paraffin lamp, and then heavy scuffling footsteps approaching the bed, the squeaking of the dusty box springs. Hermione peeked out from her padded fortress, the broad silhouette of her boyfriend, both intimidating and exciting to behold. Ron took a deep breath, Hermione felt very conscious of every movement he made now that she was so vulnerable in the dark.

"Do you want to explain what happened out there? Or should we look past it?"

"W-we should talk about it…" She mumbled. She felt like a child being lectured. "I had a dream last night. It was the last day of the battle, and Harry had died. Instead of Neville standing against Voldemort, he joined him-"

"That's silly, 'Mione. It didn't happen that way."

"Don't interrupt, Ronald." She said pointedly.

"Sorry, please continue."

"And then more people turned until it was me and a handful of mud-Muggleborns. Then the other wizards and witches began crowding around us, to prove their loyalty. Th-then I saw you and… and you cast the Killing curse on me…"

The tears came pouring out of her eyes now, she didn't bother to hide them, and she knew Ron could see them shimmer in the low light of the lamp. His arms snaked around her body, pulling her nearer to him. His left hand running through her scraggily knotted hair, while his right gently rubbed her back. She took his silence as license to continue.

"I still feel like nothing is going to change. No matter what I do, people will still think less of me. They'll see me as a-a mud-"

Ron crashed his lips to hers, not allowing her to finish the dreadful word.

"Never. Say. That. Word. You are the Brightest Witch of the Age. There is no qualifier or asterisk. Don't belittle yourself or all that you've done. If anyone thinks less of you for your birthrights, they are a nutter." His arms pulled her in tighter.

"That doesn't mean you can just kiss me out of the blue like that…"

"I'm sorry. I won't do it again, unless you ask, of course." The copious amounts of heat radiating from his skin told Hermione he was blushing ferociously.

"Maybe… one more" Ron brought his lips to hers, softly, allowing her to control the depth.

She gently teased his lips with her tongue, causing them to share a small giggle. Hermione felt safe around Ron, she felt stupid for thinking he would ever hurt her. But she understood that her mind wasn't healthy, that it would take time for her to have a good relationship with Ron, to trust him completely, like she wanted to.

"Are you alright, 'Mione?" She had stopped kissing and had begun to stare into the mid-distance as thoughts whizzed around her head.

"Oh, y-yeah. I'm sorry." She stuttered as she blushed in the darkness.

"It's alright. Take as much time as you need, love."

She sat there for a moment, the feelings welling up inside her. Hermione drove her lips onto Ron's, pushing him onto his back. She wanted to lose herself for a moment, let the mean little thoughts in her head drift off. Her hands sliding up his chest, bunching up his shirt as they went, her hands pressed between their chests. Her right hand gently tweaked her nipple through her clothes, while her left hand knotted itself in the sprinkling of Ron's chest hair. As she got more and more lost in the snogging, her hips slowly began to grind against a rapidly growing bulge it had found.

There was a knock at the door. Ron sighed and Hermione slowly removed herself from him, the slight aroma of chocolate and sweat lingering in her nose.

"Come in."

Harry opened the door for Ginny as they both entered. Ginny stood looking pointedly at her brother. '_She must think its Ron's fault that I ran off._' Harry turned the nob on the lamp, his green eyes met Hermione's own brown. She knew he was more worried about her than whatever Ginny believed Ron had done.

"What did you do?" Ginny asked as she swept some sweat matted hair off her face.

"I didn't do anything. I asked 'Mione to fly with me for a bit, she had a bit of a… flashback, you could call it."

Ron seemed a little agitated that his little sister was instantly accusing him but he held himself with a touch more maturity than he was known. '_I'm actually impressed._' Hermione thought, a bit worried that she could have to explain her nightmare once again.

"What'd you see Hermione?" Ginny asked, concern shaking her voice.

Hermione was unsure of how to describe it. '_Should I just tell her that it was about Hogwarts? Should I include Ron in it as well? Will that cause her to blame him?'_

"It must've been first-year flying!" Harry interjected.

A slight chuckle sounding across the room, Hermione smiled, thanking Harry silently.

"I just wanted to try flying again, Gin. I guess I over did it though, huh?"

The group began to talk about Quidditch, Harry and Ginny hoping she'd pick up some kind of interest in the sport. But she found it just as barbaric and boorish as she had before. Ron's arm draped itself over her as Ginny was telling her about all the good the Holyhead Harpies had done for Witch's rights. Hermione didn't really listen, instead nestling herself into the lanky frame of her boyfriend. Suddenly a thought came to her.

"When am I going to see my parents?"

The room sat quietly for a moment, they had been lightly conversing on the upcoming season. Harry spoke up.

"I think you should talk to Kingsley, not right now of course. He has some other things to get sorted, namely; the remaining death eaters and re-establishing the Ministry. I don't think it's the best idea for you to be going overseas right now, not alone. For all we know, they, Rabastan and the rest, could be gathering in Australia after fleeing the country."

Hermione nodded, she felt a pang in her heart. She wanted her mother; to tell her that she was fine, to tell she had a cute boyfriend, to make strange sugar-free desserts with her. She wanted her father to say he 'didn't like the look' of Ron, that she was still his little girl. She pushed her back a little closer to Ron's chest, his grip drew just a little tighter. The conversation went back to Quidditch. She tuned it out though, because she really didn't give a damn. The smell of chocolate was pulling at her nose once again.

**Draco Malfoy**

**June 1998**

The days ran into each other here, where ever the hell he was. All he knew was the place smelled of piss and rust, presumably from blood or the thick iron bars that left a blood red film on his hands. He was sick of being there. He was nauseated by his father, constantly proclaiming his 'innocent' to the passing guards. It didn't matter, not in the least. Draco Lucius Malfoy had given up a long time ago, but now he had something to give up to, the legal system.

They'd have their day in court, the more major offenders were standing trial now; combatants, torturers, murderers. Or that's what he thought, the steady flow of a handful of death eater elites every day out those giant doors. Despite his father's previous rank, he was small potatoes to Rodolphus Lestrange, but Lucius had stepped on enough people's shoes to have sent his family to Azkaban after a quick stop at the Wizengamot. He looked at the shrieking mess that had once been his father and tormentor, screaming his innocence until he would begin to cough blood. Draco shook his head, bits of dirt falling as he did, he was a fool to have tried to please this man. He wasn't a man; he was a boy, same as Draco had been.

He looked across the block to a large set of wooden doors, a set of guards in red stood watch. One of them, rather fat with an unkempt moustache, caught his eyes. The fat little man smiled, his yellow teeth seemed like that of a rat. The guard drew his thumb across his throat, signaling Draco's demise. He shrugged and turned from the bars, he would try to sleep on the floor, and the dirt was so thick he could only guess whether it was stone or wood that rested beneath his feet. He gave a cough, the dust rising in front of his eyes.

_She wouldn't stop screaming. That was the point, but it hurt, much more than that loony Luna girl. It pulled at his heart, like a strained ballad that begged for him to sing along to the twisted melody of the Cruciatus. He had hated her, despised her for every accolade and award she received, that she stole from him, but was that wrong worth this. He couldn't ponder that thought as long as if may have required._

"_Lacero."_

_Her blood welled in the jagged, obscure cuts. The red spilled with her anguish, a cry not unlike the animals he had been told she was related. Despite her bestial actions and heredity, he felt bile rise in his throat. He swallowed it; he may be killed if he didn't show strength, even glee, in the face of her pain. 'They aren't like us, my little dragon. They don't deserve the magic they have stolen. They make us hide how special we are, my precious.' He remembered his mother cooing to him before bed when he was young. He steadied himself on the wall, a pained grin on his face. He wouldn't die, not over her. Not over a Mudblood._

His eyes shot open. His father was gone, probably taken to see the healer to patch up his mouth. They couldn't have their prize snitch dying before they had lost their use for him. Draco couldn't find sleep, not that it was surprising in such a place, but he hadn't had it in months. It showed in his thinner, tallow-coloured face and dark-circled eyes.

"Malfoy, Draco!"

Draco sat up at the use of his name. He had been called 'death eater', 'cock sucker', and 'murderer', but 'Draco' had been non-existent for the past few weeks. Months? He stood on shaking feet, turning back to the bars. There was a woman who seemed like an Auror on the other side of the bars; she was short with honey-blonde hair, she was quite fit, but the hard look in her eyes made him sure that she'd rather kill him than kiss him.

"I-I am Draco Malfoy." A slight rasp was in his voice from de-hydration, possibly illness.

"You are being requested by the Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt. You will be momentarily removed from your cell. If you resist or act in a way that may be seen as disruptive, the charges of "Hindrance to an Auror" may be added to your current charges. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am" Draco hobbled over to the door of the cell; he was to be restrained before they opened the door.

He was led along to the large doors, the woman Auror in front of him and two guards were a step behind him. All three of them had an eye on her plump little ass in those tight trousers. The three men flinched as light hit their faces, when they passed through the doors, the light was still from candles but they were easily three times as bright as those in the holding cells. _'So, we were in the Ministry…'_ Draco thought to himself, not really feeling either way towards the discovery.

They came to a thick wooden door. 'Interview Room' was etched into the wood. The Auror entered to announce his arrival, most likely. Draco was breathing heavily, either from the distance or the stress. He would be talking to the Minister of Magic, possibly, most likely to discuss his execution. '_Grilled or fried, you death eater twat?' _He thought to himself, he cracked a smile, the first in months.

"What are you smiling about, cock eater?" One of the guards behind him bellowed.

He hid the smile and remained still, hoping for no retribution. His hopes were unanswered. The guard's elbow plowed into his side, sending him into the other one who pushed him to the ground. With his hands and feet chained, he had no hope to stop his fall. He gritted his teeth for impact. He tasted blood and smelled the dirty stone. The two guards hefted him up as the woman opened the door.

"Bring him in, set him in the chair."

They did as they were ordered. Draco felt his arms were being torn from their sockets with each hobbled step the guards took. His legs weren't listening to him, 'I must have hit harder than I thought.' They threw him into the chair, it threatened to fall, but Minister Shacklebolt flicked his wand at the chair and it righted itself.

"Thank you, Auror Jessup."

"Of course, Minister."

The Auror shot Draco a look as she and the guards left. She must have guessed he had been appreciating the view.

"Mr. Malfoy. I asked for you to be here so that we could discuss your involvement in the War."

Draco sat silently, he'd answer any questions that affected him, but he wasn't going to be a coward like his father. He realized it was ironic that he had thought to do this now, instead of when it would have mattered. His eyes were set on the shackles on his feet.

"Would you like me to remove your restraints? Would that help you be more involved?"

The Minister flicked his wand again, the shackles came undone. Draco kept his feet stationary, as if the irons were still there.

"How high up was your family among the death eaters?"

Draco sat there quietly, trying to indicate his reservations. But he already had an answer to that question.

"We were shit on their shoes. After the incident at the Department of Mysteries, we had no place in any of it."

"Then why was your family; you and your parents, there at the Battle of Hogwarts. From Mister Potter's testimony, he had a run-in with you, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle."

Draco flinched at the mention of Crabbe, he was an idiot but he was still something like a friend.

"Your mother reported Potter's death to Lord Voldemort himself."

Draco's eyes were still on his invisible shackles.

"Oh, yes. Mister Potter. We were forced to go. Mother wanted to stay behind at the Manor, but she was deemed a threat to the attack. A few wands at her throat and she came along, all three of us did. Can I have some water?" He rasped.

"Here", a hand came from his side, the words 'I must not tell lies' were scarred into the skin.

Draco took the glass in his hand, not daring to look to Potter or thank him. He took a long gulp as Kingsley continued.

"Mister Potter, here, believes that you and your family should be allowed to go without imprisonment. That you were too young to have made the choices you did. Your mother was pulled into this by her family ties, your father, and concern for your well-being."

"That doesn't excuse what my father did. It was his choice, his mistake. But of course he's squealing pretty well for you all now. He's much too valuable at this juncture."

"There is that, Mister Malfoy. If you were to be asked candidly, what do you think your family deserves?"

Draco paused for a moment, frozen. He was not sure how to take the question. Was it an honest question or a trap to see if he were truly repentant?

"I-I think my father and I deserve Azkaban. I may not have killed Dumbledore or Potter, but I was there. I could have stopped it. My father has given you about as much information as he was privy to, he'll start spewing lies soon. Seize a large amount of our assets, strict probation for some period after my release. I say 'my' because my father deserves a life sentence. He didn't serve any time after the First War because of his connections. Then periodic, random check-ins by Aurors after the probation, to make sure that we haven't relapsed, and return some percentage of our wealth after the initial probation is served."

"Life? Are you sure?"

"He deserves nothing less. He was essential in convincing me to accept the Mark, though that was my own choice."

"And what about your mother?"

With a dumbstruck look on his face, he looked to Shacklebolt. A stern expression was on his face. Draco could feel the frustration growing in his stomach. He didn't want to plead to this man or Potter or any one. He just wanted this to go away. The tears welled slowly in his eyes.

"P-please, she's done nothing. She's just gone along with this for her family, for me. I-I couldn't live with myself if she spent a second in Azkaban."

Shacklebolt and Potter shared a look.

"Thank you, Mister Malfoy. Your trial will be with in a week's time. I will call an Auror to escort you back to the holding area."

Shacklebolt flicked his wand and the shackles clicked around his legs, slightly tighter than before. Draco could feel Potter's eyes on him. He almost wanted to see what they held; disgust, anger, or… pity? He didn't look up. He wouldn't be able to take that. '_Saint Potter._'

He was led along to the holding cells by the same Auror with different guards. She had put on a cloak, much to the guards' annoyance. Draco was despondent, not even some bird's bum could cheer him up. He was back in the cell with his father, who had a gag in his mouth to stop his confessions. Draco wanted to smile at his father's predicament but he couldn't, he was most likely going to Azkaban and that was enough to take anyone's joy away.

**Harry Potter**

**16 June 1998**

**4:37AM**

He said goodbye to Kingsley after Malf-Draco, he meant, had been escorted out. They'd already exchanged pleasantries and discussed The Grangers. He was correct, a small team of Aurors would go to find them in Australia and then they'd have Hermione remove the memory charms at the Ministry. She'd have to pay a large fine, but due to the circumstances of the use of the charms, she would avoid further penalty.

He ran out into the Atrium. By the time he was there, he had realized he had been running the entire time. It was hard to break some habits. He sighed as he approached a golden fireplace. It seemed like such a waste, but he was not such an ass to use his political capital over something as trivial as a misappropriation of funds. He threw a handful of the green powder into the crackling flame.

He appeared at the Burrow, the living room was deathly quiet just like the rest of the home. It was horribly early, not even Misses Weasley would be up and about. Harry could actually hear the faint sound of Ron snoring, which made him want to laugh but he held his tongue. He slowly approached the stairs, the old wood creaking beneath his feet as he ascended. Somehow he made it to the first floor without anyone coming down to tear his limbs from their sockets. He opened Ginny's door slowly, poked his head in to see her.

She was sprawled out on the bed. Arms to her left, legs to her right and her head tilted on a large fluffy pillow. Ginny's hair was fanned out beneath her body. She must have forgotten to tie it before bed. He did usually remind her these days. But she seemed happy, peaceful, more so than she had the past month at least. He ventured to step in, a board squeaking as he did, Ginny began to stir.

"Shhh, go back to bed Gin. It's just me." He whispered, she turned over to her side and continued to snooze.

He continued over to her bed. He slid off his trainers and he laid himself down in the bed. Harry watched the photographs on the far wall move; cheering and waving silently. His hand rested on her side and smoothed down the Gryffindor tee that had begun to ride up over her tummy.

He smelled her hair, not intentionally, the scent just floated lazily around the room. She smelled like the apple blossoms outside but he also noticed dirt. It all reminded him of the funeral, of Fred, of the stories she had poured into him like a basin. He gently stroked her hair, already feeling the knots that were forming in her locks. He sighed and got a band from her bed-side table, collected her hair, not much was pinned under her, and put it into a pony tail. It was too tight but that was what he could do at the time. He laid on the mattress, hoping for sleep to take him for a short while as he waited for the world to start moving again.

No such luck, he laid there awake and restless. Thinking about Draco, '_who did he so adamantly reject my help? He could have walked away with a few fines and been done with this death eater business, but he seemed to want to pay for his deeds, almost as resolutely as any of the Weasleys would have wanted him to.' _He sighed again. This kind of thinking wouldn't get him to sleep.

He began to think about the coming day and what he wanted to do with Ginny. They could finish their chores quickly; degnoming the garden and peeling potatoes for dinner, and go out and lay in the grass for the afternoon or fly or look at the apple blossoms. He didn't care what they did. He just wanted to make up for lost time.

**A/N: Reviews. Tell me what you think. Do I need to change something? Do you see someone being out of character? I don't bite.**


	2. Sleazy Bed Track

**A/N: Enjoy!**

**The Bluetones- Sleazy Bed Track**

_Why hide your face from me?  
>Why turn away?<br>All I wanna do is pull you closer and say,  
>I'm feeling kinda tired,<br>But it ain't exactly beating down my door,  
>Now just why could this be?<br>Will you listen to me?  
>All you've gotta do is, baby, kick off your shoes and lay down,<br>Climb up here with me and let's forget about sleep, just lay down with me._

**Hermione Granger**

**18 May 1998**

**12:45AM**

_'This is unsustainable. This, whatever it is, has to end.'_ Her eyes focused on the far wall of Bill's old room, she was looking at anything in particular. There was nothing on the wall, except for a thin coat of white that shone blue in the moon's light. She just felt like she had to search the wall, as if her life was predicated on that wall.

She couldn't touch her boyfriend, they were together now right? Either way, she couldn't touch Ron Weasley unless the light was just above darkness. She couldn't look at his face either, his eyes were harder, and it sent a chill down her spine. But it stirred her core. Everything was so confused, _'There's no manual for life' _as her father had been fond of saying. She guessed he had been right, she had yet to find it, if she had it would be more worn than her copy of Hogwarts: A History.

She sighed into the mattress, closing her eyes for the umpteenth time that night. Ginny was lucky, Harry would often leave her room in the morning. Hermione wished she had that. _'N-Not that… but I wish I could sleep in Ron's bed, not like that…'_ The loose concept brought a tight-lipped smile to her face._ 'He'd wrap his long arms around me, pulling me exceptionally close. I could hear him breath, his heart would be beating against my ear.'_

_'He'd rub his warm hands on my stomach to help me sleep, th-then he-he'd slip. He'd think he was so suave. I'd clear my throat and say "Can I help you, Ronald?" He'd try to laugh it off and move his hand away.'_ She licked her lips, it was alright. It was just a little fantasy. She could be bad. _'Then I'd grab his hand and put it by m-my cu-cunny. He'd take a quick breath in, it'd be so warm. So warm for him, he'd slowly massage it.'_ Her own hand snaked its way into her pajamas, softly kneading her white cotton knickers.

Soft mewling escaped her moist lips as her mind continued the fantasy. _'Th-then he'd… press it into my bum, saying "Look how big you made it, 'Mione. You're such a naughty girl, Granger." H-he'd draw down his boxers and then I could see it, th-then I'd touch it.'_ She was soaked, with her fingers were sticking together like glue. She would have felt guilty and dirty if it weren't for the fact that every nerve in her body was screaming for more. _'It'd twitch at my touch, and then he'd stick in me. Facedown into the mattress, he'd drive into me again and again.'_ She was close, so close. She could feel the sweat on her brow, her eyes shut tight to avoid any distraction.

"Again and again" She murmured, "an-an-ah! Ah, ahhhh… ha, ha."

She raised her hand out of her usual curiosity and, as of late, more often post-orgasm clouded frame of mind. She took a small whiff, quickly turning away, _'Merlin, th-that, why did I do that!'_ She sighed once more, sat up and stood to go to the bath on the first floor. After washing her hand and fixing her hair for bed, she lay on her side and found sleep much easier. _'But I can't even look him in the eye…'_

**Ron Weasley**

**11AM**

It was breakfast and just had it had been for the past week, week and a half, it was dead silent. The high tinkling of forks and knives, scraping against plates and cutting through French toast, was accompanied by the low thump of glasses full of juice as the family ate. Ginny and Harry were sitting next to each other, holding hands under the table. George was just staring at his breakfast, as if the idea of food was truly foreign to him. Mister Weasley had left earlier and his wife was sitting at the head of the table in his absence.

Hermione was in the living room, reading, she had said she was 'fine' and that she wasn't hungry, but Ron could not help but worry about her. He shoved the last bite of syrup-drenched toast into his mouth, chewing sparsely before swallowing, and entered the living room.

He found Hermione curled up on the love seat, a book tucked against her knees. Her chocolaty brown eyes scanning the pages, sucking them dry of knowledge, turning the page as quickly as Ron thought possible. He rested his elbows on the back of the sofa, folding his hands over the back of his neck, looking down at her.

"W-what're you readin' 'Mione?"

She looked up quickly, pulled the book to her chest, and twisted her body away from him.

"Nothing! Y-you should know better than to sneak up on me."

"You're right. I'll watch it next time... But, that's certainly a big book if it's on nothing."

It was a brown leather bond book, like a text book but the cover was faded and worn. He couldn't believe that she would take such poor care of her possessions, especially a book. He looked to her reddened face, watch her eyes soften.

"It's a psychology book, Ron."

"Sickle-ogee?"

"It's about the mind, Ron." She sighed, but she understood. He didn't know much about the Muggle Sciences.

"So, like Occulamency?" He stood up straight.

"Not really. It's about how the mind works and how it… breaks."

"Oh… Why are you reading it?"

"I-I just felt like reading something a little more challenging."

"Really? I can't imagine anything being challenging for you."

"Well-well, sometimes, it's challenging."

"What is?"

"Nothing…" She sighed.

"As long as you're alright."

He reached out his hand to stroke her hair, to comfort her, but she flinched under his touch. His hand stopped, hovering just inches above her. Her face reddened and tears began to pool.

"N-No, I-I'm not, Ron… I-I don't know what's wrong with me…"

Her hands rose to cradle her face, leaving the book in her lap. Ron stood there, not sure what he was supposed to do; she froze at his touch, she could hardly look at him. So, he went to the kitchen. Everyone had their eyes on him, having heard the tears being spilt in the living room. He took a piece of toast, put some powdered sugar on it like she liked, and poured two cups of tea, one for Hermione and one for himself. He went over to the door, plates in hand. Harry stood and put his hand on Ron's shoulder.

"Maybe I should talk to her?" Harry offered.

Ron looked him over for a moment. Jealousy was rising in him, he knew that wasn't what Harry was trying to do, but he still felt the familiar fire within him.

"Sit down, enjoy your breakfast." He said through a shallow grin.

Harry sat slowly as Ron left through the door. Ron set the tea and sugary toast down on the table and he took a seat on the love seat. He sighed as Hermione scooted just a hair farther away from him. He held his hand out to the food.

"Eat, it'll calm you down. We can talk if you want, or you can just listen."

Hermione nodded, presumably choosing the latter. She took the cup in her hand. The cup shook slightly as she brought it to her. She quickly brought her other hand to help hold it steady.

"Hermione, I know that… you think that you have to be perfect, that you have to do things on your own."

Hermione opened her mouth, but Ron cut her off.

"But, I-um… We're here for you. We want to help."

He put his palms on his knees.

"Let's talk about something else, drink your tea. It'll get cold."

She took a sip, wrinkling her nose at the bitterness. Ron noticed.

"Sorry, I always forget to get sugar for other people. Here, I put a lot in mine."

He held out his mug, Hermione took it, careful not to touch his hand on the handle. She poured a bit of his into her cup, let it swirl. She looked into his mug. She could see the translucent hovel of sugar settled in the bottom. She set it on the table.

"I swear you'll lose your teeth…" She mumbled.

"I suppose." He gave a small smile before taking a sip. "We have potions for that, remember."

She grimaced, her parent's values showing through. It still gave her an uneasy feeling to see that much sugar in one man's tea.

"Where'd you get that book? We have a bunch of muggle ones, 'manu-els' mostly, but that looks like it'd be expensive."

"Oh, um, this was in my dad's study at home. It's from his Uni days."

"Why'd you take it? I'm sure there were more important things." Ron took another sip, keeping his eyes on his tea to help Hermione feel at ease.

"W-well, he used to always talk about his University days."Best days of his life", he'd say, then Mom would punch him in the shoulder and he'd add "Before marrying your mother, of course." I thought he'd miss this." She had brief smile on her face, but it slowly wilted.

"I know, you miss them. I want them here too. I want to tell them how extraordinary you are, how much I… love you." Ron blushed a soft pink, took another sip from his mug.

"I miss them a lot, but I-I…"

"Do you want to do something today? It's rather nice out. "

He looked out of the old box window, it was a bit fogged due to age, but one could see that the sun was out, the trees silently swaying with heavy white and pink flowers. The light chirp of birds was audible through the old thick glass. A starling flew over the clearing. Ron tore his eyes from the picturesque scene at the pained groan of the old love seat. Hermione was just a bit closer to him, just barely noticeable.

"Maybe we could go to Diagon Alley for a bit?"

"Alright, eat your toast and then we'll get changed, yeah?"

Hermione nodded and picked up her French toast, taking a small bite.

**Harry Potter**

**8 June 1998**

**9:43AM**

He sat in the Ministry, waiting to meet with Kingsley. The flickering of candles and lamps shadowing the furniture, the walls, the people, making the hall seem much more serious that it was. He could hear a couple of blokes in a cubicle arguing over a trade for Viktor Krum in their fantasy Quidditch league. Though there was quite a lot of traffic, not just fantasy trades, he guessed; the race back to normalcy.

He hadn't been to the Ministry since the war had ended. He hadn't felt he needed to stick his nose in their business since then. That had changed, of course, he felt Kingsley was competent but he needed to take care of the Malfoys. As much as he hated Lucius and, to a lesser extent, Draco, for what they had done and how they had treated his friends, he knew that he'd definitely be dead if it weren't for them, there was no doubt in his mind.

The secretary had been shocked to see him, going so far as asking if he'd like to go in ahead. She was sure that the French Minister could reschedule. Harry had refused her offer, wondering to himself how apt she was for this job if she thought that he was more important than the French Minister of Magic. He sighed to himself, he shouldn't have come early, and the slowly growing crowd was evidence of that. Ministry workers would come by to "drop off documents" and then stand rubbernecking for the next ten or twenty minutes. He could understand if they were civilians but these were the people that were supposed to be rebuilding the Wizarding world. He was sure not to show his frustration, showing a look of mild amusement instead.

A small woman, looking to be in her late forties, with light brown hair and a set of royal blue robes with yellow fleur-de-lis detailing, came out of the heavy wooden door of Kingsley's office. Kingsley followed her shortly, dressed in a set of purple robes, and the two made their fair-wells.

"It was very good to speak with you Minister Shacklebolt, and I wish you luck in dealing with your death eater problem. The French Ministry will be happy to help you in detaining any fugitives who may have fled."

"We appreciate that, Madame Gerhardt."

The woman turned, she had a very soft smile but hard, determined blue eyes. She must have noticed the crowd around the door, following the majority of eyes that were not on her to Harry. She noticed the scar, the little flicker in her eye told him that much.

"And you must be 'arry Potter." She held out her hand. Harry stood and shook it firmly.

"I must be." He joked with a polite smile, waiting for her intentions to show.

"Now, now. No need to be so defensive." She held her smile, but Harry could feel the mood shift. "I would like to thank you for your service. Not just to the British Ministry but to Wizarding communities across the world as well. I was once considered an inferior witch because of blood status, I know the prejudice. I've received piles of threats, and despite the danger we have avoided, they will continue."

"Th-there's no reason to thank me, Ma'am. I-I just did what was right."

"And that is why I thank you. Not for killing a mad man, but being willing to do so."

"I-I-" Harry was seriously at a loss for words. He had no idea what he should say.

"I must be going. It was incredibly nice to speak with you. Don't go vanishing on us. We may need you again." The small woman walked off towards the Atrium, an entourage of men separating from the crowd to follow her.

Harry was dumbstruck. He felt like a cad for expecting her to be like every other politician that had tried to live off his unwanted celebrity, but she seemed to understand, to forgive. He felt a great deal of respect for the woman.

"So, what is it you wanted to speak about?" Kingsley said as he escorted Harry into his office.

The room was heavily wooden, with thick dark wood, Cherry, Harry guessed. Maybe it was Black Walnut. There was a desk, made of the same wood, that looked to be heavily decorated with engravings, a clutter of files cover the top. Kingsley flicked his wand, the files stacked themselves alphabetically. Harry noticed the heavy looking books on the ceiling high bookcase, subjects ranging from law to history. Harry took a plush red leather chair. He seemed to sink into it so Harry sat carefully on the edge. Kingsley took the chair behind his desk and prompted the young man.

"Well, I think we should take care of my stated business first. How are you doing with death eater situation? I'm not looking to critique it, I just want assurance that it is being dealt with."

"I understand your concern, with the flippancy of past governments on this issue. We currently have about three quarters of the confirmed Death Eaters, most of which came from the Battle of Hogwarts. We do have tabs and lead on most of the fugitives, only a dozen or so we are uncertain about."

"A dozen wizards can cause a lot trouble, Minister."

"Please, Harry. It's Kingsley when it's private. Which is why we are pursuing those leads, the death eaters we have caught so far have been very compliant, especially Lucius Malfoy. "

"Right. That brings me to my second concern. The Malfoys, I owe them a bit of a debt. I'd like to 'comm-ute' their sentences." He mispronounced the word. It had been something he had to look up in a law book. "At least Draco's and Narcissa's, they helped more directly."

"I would want some proof that they have truly recanted, Harry, before I stake my credibility on them. You can understand, right?"

"Of course, in about a week, we could interrogate him on his actions and his own views on his crimes. To see if he had guilt." Harry disliked how Kingsley had said his reply. It reminded him on the ineffective governments of the past.

"That's reasonable. I'll let you know when my schedule will allow it. It may be at an ungodly hour, but it should be workable."

"Thank you. Kingsley, about the French Minister, what did she mean?"

"She's a Muggleborn, Harry. France hasn't been as strict as England has been in the past; they have allowed Muggleborns to take high ranking Ministry positions since their revolution in 1789. This lead to an influx of pure blood separatists to England and other parts of Europe, notably the Malfoys and the Lestranges, which set back Muggleborn integration in England at least a hundred years."

Kingsley sat back in his plush chair, taking a deep breath in.

"But with the rise of Voldemort, some questions were raised in France about the importance of Blood Purity. Madame Gerhardt has done an amazing job quelling threats of violence by both sides, as a Secretary to their previous Minister and as one herself."

"That's amazing."

"It certainly is. I hope to institute similar legislation once we have reached a better state of equilibrium. We have to be willing to change; we can't go and waste talented Muggleborns, such as our friend Miss Granger, over something as foolish as blood."

"I agree, Kingsley."

"So, as long as we are getting personal, what do you plan to do now?"

"I have no clue. I'm quite lost."

"Well, are you going to go back to school?"

"I'm not sure. I'm not sure if there's anything left for me to learn there. I mean, I've spent more than a year on the run, using every charm, potion, and spell I'd ever need to know. I think I should be moving on."

"I see where you're coming from. You were interested in becoming an Auror, yes?"

"Yes, I was, I believe I still am. I still feel I need to." Harry fumbled over his words.

"Hmm, well I think that you should take this time, enjoy life for a bit, and then decide what you want. Auror training schools begin accepting applications in the winter, we can discuss that later."

"I'll keep that in mind, Kingsley."

Harry stood, shook the large man's hand, and exited the door. A crowd was waiting for him outside, larger than it had before. Harry just wanted to yell at them to get back to work, but he held his tongue and hurried to the Atrium.

"The Burrow", he said as he threw in a handful of green dust.

**Hermione Granger**

**18 May 1998**

**1:30PM**

The life was slowly coming back to the now quiet stone alleyways of Diagon Alley. Some stores were reopening, while others had been just been abandoned or remained closed. Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes was among the latter, the windows mostly boarded up and some were broken, the mechanical man's arm hanging by a thread, his hat touching the ground lightly, as if to say 'farewell'. George hadn't left The Burrow since the funeral, and no one had even brought up the shop since then.

Hermione and Ron stood in front of the shop, Hermione could feel a fear. Not a gripping fear of death, like when she had been faced with Voldemort or Bellatrix Lestrange. No, this was a much more mundane fear; a fear that it wouldn't feel the same as before. She feared that, once again, the war had changed everything.

"Do you want to go in?" Ron said, while his nervousness was pervasive in his voice.

"Y-yeah, why not?" Hermione said. "Do you have a key?"

"Yeah, I took it from George's room."

"Don't you think he'll be cross?"

"He probably doesn't give a damn about the shop. I might as well check up on it." He dug in his pocket, pulling out a ring of keys.

He stuck one key in, tried to turn it but found it stuck, and he continued along the ring. On the third key, the door opened with strong push, a charmed piece of wood behind the door scrapping as it opened. Dust began to fly up as they walked, surveying the empty shelves. The twins had been careful to place their stock in the back room and placing sterilization charms on the pygmy puffs.

Hermione was right to fear nostalgia, her heart had clenched at the dust and the empty shelves. Nothing shined anymore, the walls were bare. It felt cold and unfamiliar, she wanted to leave, but she wanted to let Ron finish his business there. Her knees began to tremble lightly.

"It's really empty…" Ron whispered so softly that Hermione thought he was talking to himself. "I can't believe that it's still standing, you'd think the death eaters would have burned it."

Hermione could only nod, even though his back was to her. She couldn't put the words together.

Ron continued on, looking through the back, making sure everything was locked. Ron turned back to her. His eyes were soft, warm, and sad. Hermione wanted so badly to soothe him. She feebly reached out her left hand, bracing herself for his touch, her eyes closed tight. She felt his large hand enclose around hers, the warmth traveling up her arm, to her heart, through her body.

"Thanks, 'Mione."

She felt Ron begin to lead her out of the shop, her eyes were still closed. She heard the door scrap open and she opened her eyes to walk through. As Ron locked the door behind them, Hermione watched the mostly empty streets, a few women or the odd man passing by. She felt Ron's hand touch her shoulder, the hairs on her neck prickling instantly, the instinct to 'run' screamed through her.

"Let's get some lunch." Ron said from behind her, his voice sounded so rough against her ears.

"That sounds nice."

They meandered down the quiet cobblestone. Hermione could feel Ron's eyes on her, unnerving her, burning her. They came to a teahouse, just as empty as the streets, two elderly witches seated near the back chatting and gossiping. Hermione wanted to sit inside and Ron saw no reason not to. They ordered a pot of tea, a plate of assorted sandwiches, and a tray of biscuits.

Ron took a biscuit off of the floral pattern plate and bit into it. Hermione watched him, wondering what he was thinking, but she felt it wasn't her place. Perhaps the joke shop was something Ron would like to keep within his family. She took a cucumber sandwich and took a bite, it was light and not very filling, which was fine with her. She was still full from the French toast. The two old women in the corner chattered on, undisturbed by the young couple.

"So, would you like to go by Flourish and Blotts? Maybe you could pick up a new book. You must be going a bit stir-crazy." Ron half-joked.

"No, I'm fine with the books I have and we'll be going there soon for school books, anyways."

"About that, Hermi-"

The door opened with the ringing of a bell, as it was likely charmed to do, and in walked Neville Longbottom. The boy hobbled in on his crutches looking side to side, his eye finding his friends.

"Oh, Hermione, Ron, didn't expect to see you two here. Out for a date, I suppose. Ha ha." Neville nervously laughed.

Hermione could feel her ears burn. 'I-I guess, it's a date.' Ron seemed unfazed when she glanced up to him.

"Yeah, we're just getting some lunch right now. What are you here for? You could join us if you'd like." Ron offered.

"Oh no, no, I'd hate to ruin the mood. I'm here to fetch my Grand- oh there she is!" Neville said, looking towards the back of the shop. "Grandmother!" He waved his free hand in the air.

The old women turned, they seemed to discuss the display. Then the smaller one stood and began to shuffle over to the younger man.

"You make a fool of the Longbottom family, Neville. I told you to come to collect me at four o'clock, what time is it now?" Augusta said, shaking her long, bony finger at her grandson.

"It's three fifty, grandmother. Your wand runs fast, I've offered to have it fixed."

"My wand works perfectly well, Neville. Don't go thinking you can order me about just because you killed an oversized earthworm." She was referring to when Neville killed Nagini, the living horcrux.

"Yes, Grandmother" Neville sighed, but he still had a bit of a smile.

"Who are these rift-rafts?" Augusta said, a little bit of pomp in her voice.

"Oh, come now, you must remember Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. They're my mates from school, they were at the Battle."

"Possibly" Augusta gave a tight lipped smile.

"Don't be difficult, Grandmother. Since I'm already late, should we give our farewells to Misses Greengrass and be on our way?"

"Yes, come along Neville."

"It was nice seeing you, Ron, Hermione." Neville said as he repositioned his crutches.

Ron took a sandwich, biting into it ferociously, swallowing quickly.

"It was nice to see Neville again. Why is he on crutches though?"

"I saw him at the funeral. He decided to do it the Muggle way, he said." Ron turned to watch as the Longbottoms left the store, waving to Neville as they passed.

They spent the next fifteen minutes drink tea and eating sandwiches, not speaking. Hermione watched Ron as he stared out the window, probably at the forlorn, emptied streets, wishing she had just a bit more Gryffindor courage, just enough to ask what he was going to say before Neville had arrived. That would have been enough.

"We should get back. Mum probably has dinner for us already. I'll go and pay at the register." Ron said as he stood up and walked with his long, gangly gait to the door.

Hermione finished her tea before following him. She couldn't gather the courage to offer her hand this time.

**Harry Potter**

**18 May 1998**

**4:47PM**

His fingers were worn, the bone underneath throbbing at the tips and a bit at the joints. Visible gnome bites and small nicks from peeling potatoes. But at least he was sure that Ron and Hermione were enjoying the afternoon, which was important, what they deserved. Harry was sitting out front, letting the sun and wind bathe his skin. It felt nice, much better than running in the forest. He heard the door creak open on old hinges and a pair of trainers stepped down from the threshold. A small hand rested on his shoulder, he looked up to greet Ginny.

"You're done for today, too?"

"Yeah. Let's go." Ginny said as she headed towards the tree line.

"Where to?" Harry asked as he stood up and followed behind.

"I haven't gone to see the apple trees yet, they're really beautiful."

"But we can see them from here, Gin. See?" It was true. The two of them could see the pink and white flowers speckling the lush green horizon.

"You don't get to see them all though, come on. Please?"

"Alright."

Harry followed behind as Ginny walked ahead, her orange hair bouncing about. It almost made it seem as if she was skipping, but she wasn't. She wouldn't, Harry could tell her feet were heavy like lead. They continued towards the orchard, the scent of apples growing, floating into Harry's nostrils. Harry stopped to admire the blossoms, but Ginny had continued on.

"W-wait, how much farther are we going!" Harry hollered ahead of him.

"Not much farther! Don't worry, Harry. We don't have to be back before dinner!" Ginny yelled back.

Harry jogged back to be next to the Weasley girl, he did not want to lose her in the growing forest. After walking for what seemed to Harry to be hours, the two of them came to the top of a hill. Ginny took a seat in the grass. Harry stood for a moment but took a seat next to her after he wasn't given a prompt. He noticed how he could see almost all of the woods outside of Ottery St. Catchpole. The sun was setting in a fierce gold and purple.

"Fred and George used to bring me here. Bill and Charlie probably did too, but I don't remember that, I remember Fred and George."

_'Oh,'_ Harry thought. _'That's why we're here.'_

"It was always when the apple blossoms bloomed. They'd tell me what they knew or what Bill had told them about Hogwarts and the pranks they pulled." Ginny's shoulders began to shrug as she silently sobbed. "Th-they told me about the shop last year, but now there's nothing…"

Harry put his hand on her back, slowly drawing circles with his palms. Ginny looked up to him, her red-rimmed brown eyes looking to him. He didn't have time to think, his back was on the ground, her lips pressed to his. He wanted to say 'no', and that she was just in a lot of pain but that would pass. But those thoughts shriveled up and died, his arms gripping her body to his. Her kiss was hungry and desperate. He could feel his body slip away from him.

Her hand ripped at his shirt, pulling it over his head, tossing his glasses with them. He could only reciprocate. His mind was too far off to react on its own. His hands sliding under her shirt, trying to pull her shirt off, she rose to allow the garment off. His right hand regaining position on her breast, he rolled to be on top. His lips pressing down hard, his kiss was just like hers, deep and forceful. His hand crudely gripping her breast, unsure and inexperienced, but Ginny's moans into his mouth were erotic all the same. But then her eyes shot open, her hands pressed against Harry's chest and tried to cover her own.

"Uh, hey Harry, Gin… Mum says it's time for dinner." The looming, acutely pixelated figure stood over him.

"Sure thing, George…" Harry said, the figure retreating slowly as he reached for his shirt and glasses.

Ginny skipped dinner that night. Harry followed after half of an hour picking at his food. His feet lightly stepped up the stairs, in case she was sleeping. She wasn't, of course, she was hiding underneath her comforter, crying softly. He carefully stepped across the floor, trying not to alert those still eating.

He sat down on the old mattress, taking off his trainers, and turned to the crying clump of blanket. Harry reached out his hand, putting it on her head through the blanket. She pulled the blanket off slowly. Ginny looked at Harry over her shoulder. Her brown eyes were red and puffy, tears silently flowing down her face.

"I'm s-sorry."

"No, no, what do you have to be sorry about, Gin?"

"George is mad at me, and Fred's probably mad at me too…"

"No, they're not."

"They are." She wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

"Ginny, they could never be mad at you. Come here."

She slid over to the boy. He wrapped his arms around her. He could feel her tears slow, and then stop. Ginny turned around in Harry's arms, putting her head into the crook of his neck.

"I love you so much, Harry."

Her lips slowly began kneading the sensitive skin. Harry slid his hands beneath her t-shirt, her skin prickling at his touch. He pushed her down softly.

"I love you too, Gin."

She pulled her t-shirt over her head tossing it to the door, Harry did the same. Harry admired her soft, pale skin with mild sprinklings of freckles, her soft-looking breasts, and tapering waist. His right hand gently grasping her breast, a simple experiment in touch, to which Ginny sighed softly. His left arm supported him as he laid over her to continue their kissing. His right thumb began to roll over her pink nipple. This received an immediate response as Ginny began to moan into her slowing kiss.

"Pl-please touch me, Harry…"

"Uh-um, right then."

Harry pushed himself back up, straddling her legs, and b egan to fiddle with Ginny's jeans. He jerked her pants down, incurring a squeak from Ginny. Harry took a second, looking at her simple white knickers with a small bow on the waist. His hand left her jeans, slowly sliding up the side on her thigh, his thumbs hooking under the thin fabric as he went. A shiver ran through her at his touch on her most sensitive area.

He pulled down the garment, focused on the pale, smooth skin of her waist, as he came upon her plush mons and a small wisp of orange hair. The urge to touch was strong, stronger than he could have believed. His right hand gave a finger to gently probe the area, running through the thin hairs.

"N-not there… It's further done."

Harry nodded, but he only knew from whispered stories in the dorm what he was looking at. His hand trailed further down, feeling the warm, velvety wetness. A finger tentatively entering the fold, running across the trenches length, Ginny's eyes closing and breath hitching as it did. Harry's finger found her sex, gently pushing into it. Ginny began to moan, Harry pulled the finger out and replacing it in investigation of her body, her sighs and moans and mewling in tune with the movements of his hands. She slowly grew louder, bolder in her expressions of appreciative adoration. Like a frog in a boiling pot, Harry only noticed how loud she was getting once she was on the cusp of screaming.

Ginny drew in a heavy breath, her crescendo to be at the next insertion. Harry quickly clapped his hand to her mouth, he couldn't cast a silencing charm, he had left his wand at the table downstairs.

"You have to be quieter or your family will hear us." He hissed at the redhead.

Ginny nodded slowly, only barely able to understand in her sex fogged mind. Harry pressed his hand firmly to her lips, while his other began to gain momentum in her already soaked sex. She was getting closer as her walls began to quiver and they flexed to try to pull him in deeper, Harry put a few fingers into her mouth to stop her from yelling. Her tongue lazily began to lick them, as if they were something else. Harry could feel himself stiffen at the thought. Ginny's eyes shut tight suddenly, her legs flexing and straightening independently, her vagina pulling onto Harry's fingers like a hungry mouth.

"Fu-fug…" Ginny sighed around Harry's fingers.

They cuddled for a while in Ginny's bed, after Ginny put some new knickers on and Harry had washed his hands. Harry ran his hands through Ginny's sweat soaked hair, smiling to himself. Ginny was similarly content, her arms wrapped around Harry.

"I-I'm sorry for trying to quiet you down. I just didn't want your family to hear."

"I know. B-but it's not like I hated it…"

"Hmm?"

"I kind of liked letting you control my body, like whether I could talk or not, or being on top of me earlier. I kind of like that sort of thing…"

"Oh, alright then. Sure." Harry said hesistantly, not really sure what she meant by 'that sort of thing.'

**A/N: This chapter wasn't as plot driven or emotional as the first one, I know. I wanted to show the awkwardness and changing dynamics in both Harry's relationships and Ron's relationships. We'll get back to more exciting shit next chapter, I promise. It should be the trials along with more Draco, I like writing for him~**

**Recommend songs for future chapter's titles. Review. Comments. PMs. I like doing this, but I love it when I get feedback.**


	3. Scientist Studies

**A/N: I really hope you enjoy this chapter. It has more drama and politics, so let me know how that works for you all. I like writing this kind of stuff and it would be really nice if I was good-ish at it. So let me know how you like it, reviews are my favorite thing at this point or message me and I'd love to chat about Keep Calm or Red Queen, whatever.**

_**Death Cab for **__**Cutie- Scientist Studies**_

_So you slept in a stocking cap and wool scarf.  
>Promises of payment were upon your shoulders constantly,<br>but don't forget to entertain 'cause this is your first defense.  
>A four-year offense to the devoted type.<br>I may have got an invitation but I wasn't invited.  
>But I thought that this meant something more than broken hearts and new addictions.<br>We'll leave our sins within the carpet twine.  
>Our bodies will dissolve the chemicals in due time.<em>

**Hermione Granger**

**26 June 1998**

**4:06AM**

She was awakened by the shuffling in the dark, the slight creak of her door, and the clumsy whisper in her ear. Her mind was caught somewhere between awake and dreaming.

"C'mon then, wake up, 'Mione." Ron wasn't quite sure of the tone to use at this hour.

Hermione looked around in the darkness. She flicked her wand at an oil lamp to be able to see in this inky darkness, to find Ron standing above her. He had a heavy fur lined jacket, a red t-shirt underneath, and a pair of jeans. She guessed he also had boots on from the heavy thumping on the floor as he shuffled his feet in the silence. She looked about, unsure of Ron's motives, though there were a few possibilities being produced by her hormone fueled imagination.

"It-it's highly inappropriate for you to be in my room at this hour. What if someone hears? Like Harry or Ginny."

"Harry and Ginny are already up. We're waiting on you, get dressed and I'll fix some tea for us."

Hermione was thoroughly confused. _'Why would we need tea before sex?' _She sat for a moment before rolling out of bed, realizing that this was real life and there was no sex romp forth coming, she smoothed the covers once she had her feet on the wooden floor. Hermione grabbed a white button-up and put a brown jumper on over it. A pair of jeans, that she had charmed to fit her post-war slenderness, gave her a bit of trouble, it didn't bother her. She was only gaining back the weight she had lost from months of running and the Dean Diet. She tapped her wand to the waistband and returned to its original measurements and she easily slipped them to her waist, though still a bit loose. She slipped on some trainers and headed down stairs.

Ginny was sitting on a couch. Her head was nestled on Harry's shoulder. Harry was talking to her, trying to keep her up. Ron must have been in the kitchen, boiling water for tea. Hermione walked towards the couple, sitting down on an arm chair next to theirs. Harry nudged Ginny to try to get her to sit on her own, but she was stubborn and tired.

"Why are we up so early? Did something happen?"

"N-no, there's a high profile trial today, I thought we should go too." Harry saw the reserve on her face. "Y-you don't have to testify or anything and you can leave whenever. I thought we should get some closure."

'_It was closure when you threw the Elder Wand off the bridge, or when we had to b-bury Fred. We don't need to keep reliving this shit.'_ Hermione sighed. She'd support her friend until the end. It might even be good for her recovery.

"Alright, but who's trial are we going to? It must be very political to be this early."

"Ron's bringing in the tea." Harry interjected in a lightly-veiled attempt to change the subject.

Ron set a tray down and placed the cups on the table, placing them in front of each of them. He took a seat next to Harry. '_Everyone seems to be dodging around me…_' she thought as she stirred the sugar in, pouring a bit of milk. She didn't usually use milk but she felt like it that morning. She sensed that it was going to be a long day.

**Draco Malfoy**

The dungeon had slowly emptied since he had spoken with Shacklebolt and… Potter. His father had been moved to his own cell, still gagged. It was almost peaceful now, his father wasn't shrieking bloody murder, and there weren't many more death threats from adjacent cells or guards. He could almost sleep, almost, as he could close his eyes for some time but he never felt rested. His mind still tormented him, usually it was Granger but sometimes it was Lovegood or Dumbledore.

She had been such a quiet girl, strange, but he really didn't think she deserved half the shit he had put her through. Not anymore. Not after how she screamed, he didn't realize it at the time, but he had felt sympathy for her. It would've been hard not to; watching her wither in pain, her screams cracking and falling as she lost her voice, her eyes looking out at him, a dark, dim grey with a tinge of sadness. Hopelessness. He wondered if his eyes were the same now, or even then.

The doors opened again, Draco could hear it as the lock was undone, as the heavy wood swung on its hinges, and as it closed and was locked once again. An Auror's shoes clicked against the stone, Draco sat up, anticipating his release. He was disappointed as the man, sadly it wouldn't be a woman every time, went by him toward his father's cell. He laid on his side, in the grime on the floor, a cough rising in his throat. His eyes closed.

_There he stood, in the parlor standing above one Luna Lovegood, a blood traitor. This would feel good, righteous, not like before with Dumbledore. 'Yes, this is her. She's one of Potter's little friends.' She didn't look at him, just in the general area of him. Her shirt was ripped, her hair had bits of dirt in it, her lip cut and swollen. She was dragged away by the snatchers, so she could be further restrained._

_He was wrong though. It didn't feel 'better', it was worse. Her screams cut into him, he wanted to fall to the ground, cover his ears and cry for them to stop. But he'd suffer a fate worse than this if he acted upon his feelings. _

'_Come over here 'ickle Draco…' Bellatrix said in a sickeningly sweet tone, on the verge of venomous._

_He did as he was bid. He stood before the girl. Draco raised his wand. He said those words._

'_Crucio!'_

His eyes shot open. A feeling of nausea ran through his body and he went into a fit of dry heaves. After the fifth or the sixth attempt to empty his stomach, his body gave up and just went into a coughing fit. He heard a clanging on the bars of his cells, he spun around. There stood another Auror, a young man, definitely older than Draco, but with his stubble, dark circles under his eyes and assorted knicks and bruises, Draco looked the eldest of the two.

"Malfoy, Dr-Draco?"

He nodded. He stood and allowed himself to be restrained and led out of the cell. Draco was led to a set of lifts, no guards accompanied them. The wrought iron doors closed behind them, the lift rose with the speed of a freight train. The nausea, that Draco had suppressed, rose back to the surface as they reached their stop. The Auror didn't seem to be much better off, they both stumbled out of charmed doors, and Draco came particularly close to falling due to the heavy manacles. After the young Auror had stopped wheezing while holding himself against the wall, he continued to lead Draco down the hall.

They came to a door, a sign stating 'Wizengamot' in heavy cursive and gold ink. Those who had chosen to view the trial were rushed inside and the rubberneckers were escorted away. The Auror put his hands on the heavy wooden doors, ready to deliver the young death eater. Ex-death eater, he corrected himself.

"Are you ready?"

"As ready as I can hope to be." Draco mumbled.

**Ron Weasley**

**3:42AM**

He felt more comfortable in his own life now. His mother didn't cry as much, she hid it often, but he knew that she was getting better. His father was enjoying his muggle things again and he was more affectionate with his wife and Ginny, not afraid to lose them as he was before. Hermione didn't flinch when they touched, they would sneak off to snog a bit every now and then, but she couldn't look him in the eyes sometimes. George was his biggest challenge; he didn't like anything anymore, he didn't laugh, he was a spectator to his own life and Ron didn't know what to do about it. What could he do?

Those were the thoughts that kept him up at night. He'd eventually go to sleep but it seemed to be a later and later hour. Something within him wanted to share with Harry or Hermione, but he didn't want to burden them. Harry was happy with Ginny, he took the piss out of Harry about sleeping in the same bed, but he understood what they had wasn't a one-off. Hermione, he couldn't compare problems with her; her parents were a billion miles away, she still had nightmares. At least his problems were close, she was truly helpless in it all.

The bedroom door opened, Harry came in and grabbed a pair of jeans, a shirt, and a jacket. Ron sat up in his bed, looking over to the 'boy who lived'. Harry flinched at the sound of Ron rousing.

"What the fuck are you doing up so early?" Ron grumbled, not particularly happy thinking about where he had just come from.

"Um, well… I'm going to a trial. I was going to ask if you and Hermione wanted to come along."

"Why? Why would you want to relive any of this, Harry?"

"Closure, I guess." Harry said simply, drawing the jeans up his legs.

"… Maybe, 'Mione needs something like that." Ron slid his legs to the side of the bed.

"Yeah, I was hoping she'd go." He hopped around as the jean leg got stuck under his foot.

Harry sat down and started putting on some socks. Ron picked out some clothes too; jeans, shirt, jacket. He'd get Hermione up in a minute.

**4:24AM**

"What is this!" Ron roared outside the Wizengamot.

"Keep your voice down." Ginny hissed at her brother.

"Why are we at this git's trial?" Ron asked pointedly at his mate, possibly former.

"I owe them my life, Ron. I need to help them in any way I can." Harry said, looking at his feet.

"Why did Hermione need to be here? You could have testified by yourself. You're the damn 'Boy-who-lived'. They'd do whatever you asked."

Ron was furious and every fiber of his being was fighting against itself to not deck Harry. He turned to Hermione, who was staring off into space, rubbing the sleeve of her jacket. Ron tried to take her hand, to stop her from fixating on the scar but also to comfort her. She pulled her hand away from his and continued to massage the area.

"Hermione, please. I owe them a debt, I-"

"What about her, Harry! What do you owe us? Loyalty? Respect? We went through a lot for you. I lost my brother. Hermione gave up her family for you. She'll never get that time back. We did that for you! Not for him, not that fucking weasel!"

Harry turned from Ron, realizing he couldn't be consoled, he looked to Hermione.

"I know it can be hard to relive things like this. I won't ask you to testify, you can give your memory and the Wizengamot can view them later."

Hermione nodded slowly. She began to stumble towards the heavy wooden doors. '_I can't believe this shit._' Ron looked down to Harry, looming over him.

"If you hurt her, I won't think twice about hurting you, mate." Ron said the last word with venom, turning to leave.

Ron walked away, from his 'friend', until he could see Hermione. He wanted to leave the Ministry, out of spite, but he was more worried about her than he was angry at Harry. He continued on to a cafeteria. It smelled like cheap coffee and oatmeal. The floors were horribly stained, the walls dingy with weathered portraits of past ministers peering out from behind burn marks and blemishes, but the smiles of the house elves made it seem much nicer.

Ron took a tray, piling a stack of breakfast meats, spooning a bowl of oatmeal, and pouring himself a glass of orange juice and pouring some coffee. He expected to pay a few galleons, but the elf at the cash register just waved him off, saying something like 'Wheezy eat free.' He shrugged and balanced the tray over to an empty table, even at this unimaginable hour the cafeteria was very full. He was about half way through his breakfast when someone took the seat next to him.

"Hi, Ron."

"Percy? What're you doing here so early?" It was Percy, curly orange hair and all.

"So late, you mean. I had some things to take care of so I put in some overtime."

"Some? Dad hasn't even left for work yet."

"Yeah, I'm not usually here yet either, but I needed to get it done. I have a prior engagement tonight."

"What do you have planned? Alphabetizing a library?"

"You shouldn't alphabetize a library, Ron, commonly a system of organization based on subject is often devised, such as the- anyways. I'm going on a date."

"With a woman?" Ron asked incredulously.

"What? Yes, did you think I was a poofter?"

"Well…" Ron shrugged his shoulders.

"I'll have you know I have had plenty of girlfriends."

"How many exactly, Percy?"

"Three." Percy held up his fingers to emphasize his point.

"So, three is plenty?"

"That's more than you've had, Ron."

"Fine, what's her name?"

"Now you think she's imaginary?" Percy said, rising from the table.

"No, Merlin. I believe you, I was just asking about your life." Ron said, exasperated and regretting that he had.

"Sorry. I get defensive." Percy sat back down. "Her name's Penelope, she works in Muggle Artifacts with Dad. He introduced us. Enough about me, why are you here?"

"Harry is getting Hermione to testify to get the Malfoys out of Azkaban. He's being such a git." Ron looked down to his oatmeal, lazily stirring the gloppy brown sugar cement.

"Oh, right. Minister Shacklebolt told me about that, I didn't know Hermione would be involved. That's a big risk he's taking."

"I know, what if Hermione has a relapse or an episode or- or-"

"Ron, she's stronger than that. I meant by requesting the commutation of the Malfoys' sentencing, if they go back to their old ways it could ruin Harry's political life. There's a lot more to being an Auror, a ministry worker, than just catching the bad guys, if you want anything done you need some pull with the higher-ups. He's using most of his on this, on them, he must believe in them quite a bit."

"He always wants to see the best in people, like Dumbledore did. But they aren't all as misunderstood as he wants to believe."

"That's why it's good that he has you, Ron. You're his pragmatic half. Moving on then, what are your plans?"

"I'm not going back to Hogwarts. Not after all that happened there. Maybe I could follow Harry into being an Auror, at least get my head sorted."

"That's not a bad idea. Finish your breakfast; mum would throw a fit."

"It probably wouldn't be as big as if she found out you were clocking out at six in the morning, or going out with a girl."

"Oh, sod off."

The two brothers laughed before tucking into their breakfasts. '_Still the world's biggest prat._'

**Draco Malfoy**

The momentary silence was deafening, though it paled in comparison to the roar of the crowd as his entrance was acknowledged. Any other person may have hung their head in shame, hidden their face in some failed attempt at anonymity. Draco looked to the crowd, a blank expression on his face, but it slowly grew into his family's famous grin. It was met with a resounding hiss from the crowd.

Draco's arms were gripped tightly by two more Aurors. He was led to a chair and thrown into it unceremoniously. He flipped his dirty, greasy hair to one side, an attempt at recapturing the air of nobility he had had since birth.

"Order! Order!" The Chief Warlock shouted at the audience. "We shall not allow this court to become a circus. Mister Malfoy, we would advise you not to incite them, especially in light of the crimes of which you are accused."

Draco's smirk remained, plastered on like his dirty, sticky locks. '_It's hardly my fault they can't get enough of me._' He had always been one to laugh at his own joke, but he restrained it to a small cough.

"So, we shall begin. In the case of the Ministry of Magic v. Draco Malfoy, you have been accused of the following; Service to a Dark Wizard, Aiding and Abetting Servants of a Dark Wizard, Attempted Murder, seven counts of the Use of an Unforgiveable Curse, and three counts of Accessory to Murder. The Total sentence of which would be easily nine life sentences. How do you plead?"

"Guilty."

Then came a huge rumbling from the crowd, '_Potter certainly has developed a taste for the dramatic, first Hogwarts, now this._'

"Due to circumstances beyond his control, Sir."

"Order! Order!" The elderly wizard shouted down the crowd's rambling. "Elaborate if you would, Mister Potter."

"I have proof that the accused, Draco Malfoy, only acted under the Lord Voldemort-" a collective hiss rising from the seats, "_his _orders due to pressure from his father and in order to insure his mother's safety."

**Hermione Granger**

The courtroom seemed to fluxuate in size, she had Ginny next to her, trying to comfort her. But she felt ill, like the walls were closing in, the room was spinning, other wacky crap like that. Her mind was trying to avoid the inevitable revision of that time, but she had given her word. She'd support her friend; just as she had done for the past seven years. She sometimes wondered if she'd be this loyal, this brave for Harry or Ron, if she had had more than one friend in primary school. Her mind was wandering. She smacked her face with her free hand, not hard but quite loudly, Ginny turned to her. A look of shock on her face, but Hermione said it was 'nothing'.

She stood when she was called, brought down to the lower level by an Auror, just as Harry had been. Her steps were uneven and unbalanced like that of a newborn fawn, she smiled at the image. A large wooden door was opened for, Harry was there. She gave him a hug, not wanting to let go, knowing that she'd have to relive it all. The process only took seconds, but the source of the memory would have to sit through it all again, like an editor for a film. _'I should take Ron to see a film, he'd flip his lid.'_

Harry pulled away, and she hobbled to a chair, facing Him. She couldn't even look at him, not his face, not even his badly tattered Italian leather loafers. It made her sick and horribly dizzy. A legilimens placed his wand next to her ear, his lips began to move. She guessed he was trying to help her remember, to help her focus to make the extraction that much easier. It was unnecessary. Hermione pulled out the memory like an old ratty dress from a dusty closet. The syrupy silver substance traversed out of her ear, into a small glass plate. The Auror carefully placed it on a tray and it was taken away. She stood to get out of there as fast as she could, but suddenly a wave of lightheadedness hit her. Then Darkness.

Hermione heard yelling and that was hardly ever a good thing, especially when she was just waking up. '_Waking up? Was that all a dream?_' Her eyes shot open hoping that the whole episode had been only a figment of her imagination. But no, the walls here were certainly white but more of the sterile white of a hospital than the chalky white of Bill's room. She was in a hospital bed and gown, but she continued to look about, drawing in every possible detail.

"I told you this was going to happen! But of course, you wouldn't listen to me. You're the fucking Golden Boy, and I'm just her boyfriend!" Ron was yelling at a dejected looking Harry.

"I didn't think she'd pass out, Ron… I-I'm sorry. I should have listened to you, but they needed my help. I had to do what I could."

"What _you _could, Harry. Hermione and me," '_and I_' Hermione mentally corrected, "We are not involved with them and I certainly don't want to be."

"I won't involve you next time then. Hermione chose to give her memory, you saw her go."

"Do you think she is in the best state of mind to make decisions like that! Of course, she'd ju-" Ron motioned to the girl he thought to still be asleep.

"Ronald Billius Weasley!"

"Bloody Hell" Ron whispered thinking Hermione couldn't hear him.

"I made my own choice, and for your information my state of mind is fine to make _my decisions_. Stop beating up on Harry. He said he's sorry, it wasn't something he could have helped." Hermione said in an even, calculated tone which made it all the more horrifying to Ron, she hadn't talked to him like that since the War had ended.

"Cheers, 'Mione." Harry said.

"Don't mention it. Now, Harry, if you would, please leave the room. I want to rest for a bit." Harry obeyed, standing and heading for the door, he turned as he was about to leave.

"Alright, come on, Ron. We can go get lunch, I'm sure they'll bring something up for the Gryffindor Princess in a bit, yeah?" Ron sheepishly grinned and headed to the door.

"Ron, could you stay? It'd make me more comfortable."

Ron shrugged to Harry. "Guess I'm needed here mate, grab me a sandwich. I'll ask the nurse to give me some gelatin or something. Cheers."

Harry left, the door closing swiftly, by a charm, behind him. Ron retook his seat, an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair right next to Hermione's bed. Hermione scooted over in the bed and patted the space next to her. Ron looked up to her, a look of surprise on his face.

"That chair doesn't look very comfortable, come sit down by me."

Ron sat down on the stiff mattress, but he took just a bit too much space, pinning the side of her hospital gown beneath him. He turned to his girlfriend, to talk to her or hold her or whatever. This movement pulled down the gown, revealing just a bit of her cleavage, but Ron couldn't pull his eyes away. The creamy stem of her neck, flowing down to the luscious mounds she had somehow hidden from him for years, deliciously laid out before him. Hermione blushed furiously and began to try to hide her breasts from her boyfriend.

"It's not something that I haven't seen before, 'Mione. We were tussling about by the pond yesterday weren't we?"

"That may be but that was a pond, this is a sick bay. This carries very different connotations, Ron."

"Please?" He gave her a pout that only succeeded in making the ginger boy look like he had gotten a Sour Plum flavored Bertie Bott's.

"Maybe…"

"Yes!" Ron shot his hand into the air, looking quite pleased with himself.

"Ron, 'maybe' is not an automatic yes from me."

"To be honest, 'Mione, it is. When has either Harry or I ever had to convince you past a 'maybe'?"

"S-so what? You two are my friends. I'd do just about anything for you."

"I know and that's something I love about you. I've just known you so long. I can _almost_ understand how you think. Girls all think differently."

"Oh, do they now, Mister Teenage Heart-throb?" She said sarcastically.

"Don't be like that. I just said I love that about you."

"Maybe I should think differently, hmm? I should approach us in a new way."

"Uh well, um…" Ron stammered, not at all sure what she was getting at.

Hermione quickly moved to be straddling over the Weasley boy. She reached to the back of her gown, undoing one of the knots by her shoulders. The gown loosened and slid down her right shoulder. Ron was still in shock at her change in temperament. Hermione brought her lips to his, ferociously taking his lips. She sat up, giving the Weasley boy a bit of air.

"What was that about, Hermione?"

"Jean." Hermione said, deadpan as if simply correcting him.

"Huh?" A look of confusion was on his face.

"Call me Jean, not all the time. I'll tell you when I'm being Jean."

"Uh, okay…"

Jean kissed Ron lightly on the lips, and then continued down to his jaw line. She bunched his tee shirt up to his neck and she continued down to kiss his chest. Her hands shot to his belt, rather easily undoing it. She unfastened the fly, pulling his jeans down his thighs. Her right hand began to gently knead his penis through his orange Cannons boxers, her eyes traveling up to his. She sophisticatedly licked her lips.

"Do you want to do the honors?" She said, looking to his growing bulge.

Ron quickly nodded and slid down his boxers. Jean's hands went back to his penis. The right hand rubbing his shaft and her left went to massaging his scrotum. Ron hissed at the soft but demanding touch of her hands. She began to lightly kiss the head of his penis, forcing the phallus to its full bulk.

Hermione could feel Ron's fevered gaze upon her blushing, prickling skin. Her mind swimming in a thick soup of sexual desire and anxiety, but in the very back of her brain, she thought '_Oh Merlin… what am I doing? I'm acting like such a… slut.' _ But none of her inner turmoil showed through, she was confident and fluid as her left hand left his scrotum and began to finger herself. She gave a haughty moan as she felt her muscles flex within her body. A knot began to tie itself within her. Hermione sat up, moving to straddle just above Ron.

"W-wait, are you sure, Hermione?"

Her mouth crashed his as she plunged his length into her folds. '_Bloody fuck, that hurts!_' She was a virgin, though Viktor Krum had been very eager but she had cleverly talked him into a kiss, Ron was by her estimation average in size but it felt a whole lot bigger once it was inside her. She stopped moving, partially settling and adjusting to the foreign presence, but also wondering what she was supposed to do next. She had never thought about being on top, _'this is called 'Cowgirl' isn't it?' _Luckily her body began to move on its own, her hips slowly rocking back and forth, gaining speed as the pain in her pelvis began to subside. That knot continued to tighten as Ron took her movement as a call to action. He slowly sat up, keeping his lips to hers, and began to softly grope her ass with his right hand and running his left through her bushy, brown mane.

Her lips pursed in a silent 'ooh' as she grew closer and closer to the edge. She glanced to Ron, his eyes shut tight as if a spider were hovering above his head and he was hoping to vanish it away, his teeth biting viciously into his lip, threatening to draw blood. His hand left her hair, balling into a fist, trying to hold off his orgasm. Hermione's heart fluttered, but Jean smirked; her hands went to his chest and forced him back to the bed. She followed him down, her breasts pressing against Ron's bed of ginger chest hair. Her hips again began to buck furiously. The extra friction against her button felt nice, but most of all it kept Ron undistracted. There could be no thoughts of Quidditch or McGonagall in a tube top gallivanting about in his head. She wanted him to cum with her. Now. She softly licked and then bit his nipple and almost immediately felt his cock twitch inside her. Her left hand's fingers knotted themselves in his chest hair, giving a slight pull as she bit down once again. That sent him over the edge, she felt the warmth of his seed paint the inside of her body with three strong jets. She remained on top of him, enjoying that feeling of wholeness and peace with the World, that it wasn't all bad out there. There may be psychotic Dark Witches and NEWT testing, but there also charming red haired goofs who could make her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

She didn't orgasm, it was her first time. This was the usual course of events as she had read, not just from girly magazines but scientific journals as well. Mostly girly magazines though, you don't come across many British Medical Journals about female orgasms. She felt Ron's chest rise and fall, his heart beating away.

"What was that?"

"Coping mechanism."

"Huh?"

"Get dressed before someone comes in. We can talk later. That was magical by the way."

Ron blushed heavily. "Y-yeah, but you still owe me an explanation."

Harry came back about fifteen minutes later, a few wrapped sandwiches in tow. He gave one to Hermione and the rest to Ron. They ate and talked what happened while Hermione was out.

"So, Lucius got thirty-six or so life sentences. Draco is going to be serving two years and will be under house arrest for six months after that. Narcissa is under house arrest for a year and the Malfoy estate will be under strict regulation of the Ministry."

Harry sat silently, looking to Ron. He was waiting for an eye roll, an indignant reply, or some other expression of ill-content at the Malfoy's sentencing. There was none, Ron just popped the last of a roast beef sandwich into his mouth and started in on a chicken salad sandwich.

"Aren't you angry, Ron?" Harry asked.

"Not really. Azkaban's a miserable place, with or without the Dementors. I hate the prat, but that's what the court decided." Hermione smiled at the boy, though he didn't notice.

**Astoria Greengrass**

**18 December 2000**

**10:29AM**

The sunlight streamed in from the window, filtering through the snow and ice that had accumulated on the sill. Astoria was roused from her sleep by the soft pop of her personal elf, Tilly. She gave a small stretch of her arms above her head, her pert breasts rising and falling with her arms. The elf placed a small breakfast tray on her lady's lap; tea, toast, butter, sliced fruit, and handed her a copy of the Prophet. Astoria had taken to actually reading the paper, being informed about current events and politics, all that bothersome crap. She had realized its importance sometime in her seventh year.

She ate her breakfast elegantly, but she finished quickly as her father needed her for an appointment. Astoria hadn't found a job yet, it wasn't necessary, but she did feel like she wasn't contributing during conversations at dinner or parties. Daphne always had some kind of story from the Ministry, though she couldn't talk about her own work in the department of Mysteries. '_How a gossip like her got a job in the DM is beyond me. _' That was part of why she had begun to read more; history, novels, current events, it helped her feel more cultured and to have actual conversations with people. Instead of just making remarks about how fat Pansy Parkinson's ass looked in her dress.

Astoria stood after moving the tray, shivering as her feet met the cold hardwood floors. Before she could say anything Tilly was already sliding her arms through the sleeves of a robe. She gave a thankful nod, a generous show of appreciation in most pure-blooded circles. The elf also fitted a pair of slippers to her feet before fetching her clothes for the day. She cast a light warming charm during the intermittent period where she was naked as Tilly dressed her in a brassiere, a set of panties, a dark blue dress, and fur-lined black pea coat. Tilly slipped on a pair of black heels and Astoria turned to leave her room, Tilly took her dishes and apparated to the kitchen.

She descended a staircase into the parlor. Astoria was startled by the sudden flare of green in the floo, but she was composed by the time the visitor had poked their head in from the fireplace. Astoria was struck by the woman's long, stringy blonde hair, her gaunt, tired face, it was Narcissa Malfoy.

"Hello, dearie." The woman stepped into the parlor, brushing soot delicately from her clothes. "I have an appointment to meet with your father. Home on break?"

"I graduated last year actually. I haven't found employment yet." She smiled coolly as she moved to welcome the guest more closely.

Her father came down soon after. Narcissa had apparently shown up very early. He was tall, barrel-chested man with chestnut brown hair and striking blue eyes.

"Good day, Narcissa. To what do I owe the honor?" He took the woman's hand and kissed it politely.

"Business, Bernard. My family hardly has time for minor pleasantries and good will visits. I hope you understand."

"Of course. Astoria, could you leave us to talk freely? This way if you'd, please." Her father held his hand out to lead Narcissa.

"I think it would be fine for her to listen in, it could concern her." Narcissa said, giving Astoria a piercing gaze that made her blood run cold.

"Alright then." Her father followed the two women into the sitting room, and the fireplace lit itself as they entered.

Bernard sat in a plush, leather arm chair on one side of the fire and Narcissa took a similar one, on the other side of the fire, looking at Mister Greengrass. Astoria sat on the end of a couch, her elbow quickly finding the arm of the chair and her high cheekbones, anticipating a long, arduous conversation.

"I think it would be wise to cut to the chase, Bernard." A gentle, calculated smile on the blonde woman's face, "I am here to proposition an engagement between our families."

"Narcissa, I know you can't be so foolish to think that I would willingly go forward with that. I know our families have plenty of history and you were among Felicia's best friends in school, but that doesn't change that fact that the Ministry seized most of your assets, your reputation has been horribly damaged. We have nothing to gain from the marriage."

"That is very true." Misses Malfoy's smile had become very thin, only slightly veiling her fangs. "But you have pride, not enough to have joined- ahem, excuse me, I am under a Taboo due to the Ministry's findings. You may not have had enough to join _him_, but you have more than enough to prioritize your heritage. Your purity. Not many of our type left."

"Ha! We could proposition the Zabini boy." Astoria's father rose just a bit further in his seat.

"They have less than we do at this point, and I'd hate to fall on clichés, but it'd be tragic if mother was like son, yes? Also, as I understand it, he is quite predisposed with the Parkinson girl."

"I am not handing my family's history over to a convict." Bernard suddenly stiffened for a moment, and then his face fell to his hand.

"Ah, so you understand. I wouldn't expect you would have to give much as a dowry."

"Astoria, what did you think of Draco when you were both at school?" Her father asked.

"Well, he was older so we didn't talk much, but from gossip I heard, he sounded like a difficult person and rather… flippant." Astoria said, hardly paying any mind to the conversation, though it was her future that they were discussing.

"Yes, I suppose." Narcissa interlaced her fingers and rested her hands in her lap. "He's served his house arrest by now, I could send for him if you'd like Bernard. He'd hate to intrude but I know he could be persuaded."

"That won't be necessary at this time. Send my best to the lad."

He really had no choice to make, he reasoned to himself. To be able to marry off his second child to a well-off, pureblood family like the Malfoys was a great opportunity for his family. Like a low-risk investment, he had little to lose and a whole lot to gain, he hated to think of his daughter's future in such a way but she was intelligent, well-spoken, and she would look out for herself. He was sure of that.

"Thank you for your time, Bernard. Send my best to Felicia. I understand she is ill again."

"It's nothing serious, thank Merlin."

"Never is with her. Nott women are very sturdy. It was a pleasure to meet you Astoria. I hope that we get on well."

"As do I, Misses Malfoy." Narcissa gave that smile again, the one that made breathing just a bit harder.

**Draco Malfoy**

**1 July 2000**

**10:47PM**

There was huge difference, an adjustment to be made in his life. Azkaban was bad. It didn't need Dementors, it was plenty miserable in and of itself. There was the cold, somewhere just below freezing, just so that there was the desperate hope that if one could find just a little more heat they wouldn't freeze to the death. The constant moans and groans of dozens of men, begging for death but also struggling from its grasp. He had kept his back to the cold stone wall, sometimes it would radiate the heat he poured into it, but he had seen what had happened to another young man like him who had been as smart. Draco had never been much of a fan of buggering, and he didn't want to try it from the other perspective.

Now he was home. Well at the Manor, it really never quite fit the moniker of 'Home'. His mother had been excited to see him, though she held those emotions tightly to herself, as she had been raised. He couldn't leave the property or use a wand, so he spent most of the day padding about the Manor. He had forgotten about the gardens, the pond, and those annoying peacocks. There was no 'outside' at Azkaban and it seemed preposterous that it was any different now.

He had found his father's liquor cabinet on his first day home and made several visits since. He wasn't used to the tastes of Firewhiskey, bourbon, or scotch, so he tried something different each time, noticing it became just a bit sweeter. He hadn't had that first drink with his father and it seemed he never would, not that he missed the bastard. It was just another item to inventory on the long list of failures as a father.

Draco also reacquainted himself with the library. Mostly reading books on serious matters; history and economics were mainstays. He didn't have an interest in the subjects. he had an interest in what they meant. As per his suggestion, over eighty percent of their fortune had been seized, only about forty percent of that would be returned, so he would have to make his own money and rebuild the family's name, eventually.

His mother stood before him, blocking his view of the fireplace as he sat in a red leather chair. He took a sip of scotch, bracing him for whatever it was she thought was so damn important.

"Draco. Did you ever meet an Astoria Greengrass at Hogwarts or one of the galas?"

"I suppose, Pansy was friends with a Daphne Greengrass. I may have met her but I don't remember her per say."

"Very well then."

His mother moved to leave the room, briskly stepping out the door. Draco turned, thinking to ask her why she had inquired, but he thought better of it. Whatever she had planned wasn't his business until she brought it to him. He finished the half-empty glass and stumbled over to the cabinet to pour another.


	4. Strange Condition

**A/N:** **I know this chapter is shorter than I like, but my brain is wandering to another project of mine. I'm sure you all will like that to come sooner rather than later and I want to keep KC moving along. Thanks. Enjoy.**

_**Pete Yorn- Strange Condition**_

_It's a strange condition.  
>A day in prison,<br>It's got me out of my head.  
>And I don't know what I came for,<br>I want you to know,  
>I want you to know...<em>

_So leave out the others, baby.  
>Say I'm the only one.<br>Cut out the uniforms  
>and settle with the sun.<br>Hey I want you to know,  
>'Cause I wanna know.<em>

**Ron Weasley**

**29 July 1998**

**3:16PM**

It had been a quite week. Hermione and Ron often stayed in his room, maybe take a walk in the orchard, but they had been enjoying the time alone. They were now in his room after a late lunch.

"'Mione… I'm not going back."

The girl on his bed looked up to him. Her head was in his lap, but she slowly sat up. She had just been prattling on about Hogwarts, about being Head Boy and Girl, about taking their NEWTs, and getting their diplomas together, his mother should take a bunch of pictures. His heart had been slowly breaking, both wanting to tell her the truth but not wanting to destroy the beautiful impossibility she had created.

"What?" She said softly, but the anger was slowly surfacing.

Ron looked away from her; she couldn't hurt him if he didn't look at her. Emotionally, he would be beaten within an inch of his life if she wanted to.

"I'm not going back to Hogwarts." He repeated, knowing it would only anger her further, but he had to be clear.

"Why not!" There it was. Ron could feel his will weakening already.

"I can't bear to see Hogwarts again, not after what happened to Fred…"

"Look me in the eye and say that." Hermione stated.

It was a trap, if he looked, then he'd see that angry face, those warm chocolate eyes and that would be the end of that.

"I-I need to be here. I can't leave my family, they need me." Ron said, but his eyes were still averted.

"I need you too, Ron. I lost things too," Ron could see her begin to stroke her shirt's left sleeve. He hated that it would never go away, that he could never make her forget. "But that doesn't excuse you from living your life, Ron."

"I can't go with you Hermione… I'm sorry." He whispered.

"But you don't have to be." She stood from the bed and left the room.

He had thought it over and over again, but he couldn't think of more than a couple reasons not to go back to school. Mainly to help his family and get a head start on beginning Auror training, but the first reason was easily deafened by his family's growing vitality and how far ahead could he be with six months of training? On the other hand, being Head Boy had been something he'd wanted since Bill had been in school, to be Quidditch Captain and spend late nights in the halls with his beautiful girlfriend on top of that would be amazing. He thought to kick himself for being such a git.

"Are you feeling alright, dear?" His mother looked at him worriedly, his food was relatively untouched.

"Oh. I'm fine, mum. Just-" he looked to Hermione who was spearing a wayward potato wedge. "Thinking something over."

"Alright, dear." She smiled sweetly and went back to worriedly talking with her husband about Harry.

Harry had announced he wasn't going back to Hogwarts a few days back and that had led to a line of fights between Ron's father and Harry, Ginny and Harry, then Hermione took a row too. Harry had left for Grimmauld Place and only came by during the day now, his mother had been worried sick about him in that hoary, dusty place but Ron had assured her that Kreacher would make it more than habitable.

Since then dinner had been a horrible charade; Hermione was angry at Harry, winning arguments against him mentally, Ginny was in shock as they hadn't made up 'properly', and his parents were worried about their adopted son. Oh yes, and George was still miming the life of a very depressed wizard.

Ron went back to eating his dinner, he could think later.

**George Weasley**

**7 November 1998**

**11:02AM**

The bitter wind whipped through the tight alleyways of Diagon Alley, chilling people in thick coats to the bones. George Weasley pulled his purple corduroy coat tighter around him. He had business to take care of that day, an appointment to make. He walked past that shop, the man's face was gone now, the rebar that had been behind it was bare and rusting, his arm had been thrust through the front window but he knew no one had ventured inside. No one wanted to be there. The shrine to a dead dream. He turned on his heels, trudging further down the way.

Gringott's had always been an intimidating place to George. His family was poor and the annual trip for school supplies was an anxiety attack to him until that last sickle was in his mother's hand and they were all out of the building. The trauma had remained even into adulthood, the thousand Galleons from Harry had been a huge help, but ultimately it was only enough for a little over a year's rent and a deposit for the lease. But Fred had been there, threw his arm around his shoulder and joked _'Let's rob those goblins blind!_' as they walked up those steps into the lop-sided bank. He wanted to laugh at the memory, to smile at the time they had shared, but nothing came. The pit in his heart only dug itself deeper.

He walked up the white marble stairs, entering the bronze doors that were held by goblin guards. He followed behind an older woman. George continued on through the second set of doors eventually reaching a counter, his eyes stared intently to the tarnished wood, etched with the culmination of an infinite number of signatures, because he couldn't manage to look upon the goblin clerk. He didn't think less of them, he was just severely intimidated.

"I would like to sell my shop and I would like Gringott's to brokerage the deal."

"Wait over there" the goblin's claw pointed to George's right, he had learned where he was to go from dozens of nerve-wracking trips to the bank. "A representative will collect you shortly."

"Thank you."

George walked over to the waiting area, where there was an old man, a mother with two kids, two boys, and the older woman he had let in earlier. He took a seat, nearest to the door, two seats from the mother, and her children were coloring on the floor. His eyes would wander to the boys, fighting over what color a gnome was and who could have the red crayon. A smile was spreading on his face subconsciously.

"Do you have one of your own?" A voice said out of nowhere.

"Hmm?"

"Are you a father?" It was the mother, obviously.

"Oh, um- no, I'm just from a big family. We used to fight like that…"

"They're such terrors sometimes."

"Yeah, we were too. That never really goes away."

"Oh my, y-you're a Weasley!"

"Yeah, I can't really hide that." He blushed a bit.

"Thank you, oh God. Thank you…" Her eyes began to water. "I-I'm a Muggleborn, th-they would've taken my babies away."

The children stopped coloring, noticing that their mother was upset.

"Why are you crying, mummy?" They said almost simultaneously.

"Twins?" George said, just above a whisper.

"Yes, fraternal. This is John and this is Rory." They each waved to identify themselves.

"Mister Weasley? If you would come with me." A young woman said as she entered through a door.

"It was nice to meet you..."

"Sarah, Sarah Landry."

"Sarah, John, and Rory." He smiled and went with the woman.

She led him through the hall of offices. She was shorter, maybe five foot two, her hair was in a bun and she had horned glasses that added to her bookish look. The door swung open for her, she motioned for him to take a seat, and he did. She sat down after him. She opened a file cabinet, flipping through folders and then pulled out a form.

"Let's begin, shall we? The property you are selling is the joke shop down the street-"

"Yes, it's just with my brother's… death. I can't manage the place alone. It was our dream, _ours_, it doesn't feel right to move on without him. I miss him so-"

"Mister Weasley, I only needed a 'yes' or a 'no'. That is none of my business."

"Excuse me." He felt like an ass, she was right. It was none of her concern, and hopefully within a few weeks, the shop would be gone and it wouldn't be his either.

The woman continued to ask simple questions, 'Is there any damage?' 'Would you be willing to pay for repairs?' et cetera, et cetera. He found out, through mentally sifting through a few personal items on her desk that she was Miss Hornsbury. Suddenly, there was a knocking on the door.

"Oh, Bill." A shiver traversed the whole of George's being. "Going out for lunch?"

"Yeah, I was wondering if you wanted something. We were going down to Bellamy's, I know you like their sandwiches."

"Can you get me a turkey club? I was just finishing up with your brother actually."

"What's he got you doing for him? A loan to expand his shop, or to buy out Zonko's?" George didn't turn around, but he could tell that his brother was elated at the thought.

"No, actually he's signing a brokerage agreement with us so he can sell his shop."

"… Could you give us a moment alone, Melanie?" Bill said as he took a step inside, the door closing behind him.

"Of course, family matter?"

"Yes, excuse us for the inconvenience." Bill said politely.

The small woman stood, squeezed by his brother, and left the room. The temperature dropped almost instantly. Bill's hand clasped to George's shoulder.

"What are you thinking, George?" Bill strolled into his field of vision, leaning against the wall.

"I'm thinking I can make some money and buy my own place."

"Seriously, though. What the fuck are you thinking!" Bill threw his hands up in exasperation.

"I-I can't do this, Bill… Not without Fred…" George whispered.

"So, you're giving up… Giving up on your dream. Thank Merlin that Fred can't see you now. At least, he doesn't have to see what a coward you've become!"

"Fuck you! You don't know what I lost, Bill!" He stood to face his older brother.

"I guess I don't, let me guess. A brother? A friend? No. I guess I have no idea! But you'll regret this. You'll regret losing faith in your dream."

Bill stormed out of the door at that. Melanie came back in, retook her seat, and slid the contract and a bottle of ink towards him. She _accioed_ a quill and handed it to George.

**Draco Malfoy**

**12:00AM**

**1 January 2001**

Champagne was popped, cheers rang through the halls from the ballroom and all those adjacent, and the New Year was being rung in with style. The celebration was not just for the New Year, though that was usually a large enough event, it was also to announce the engagement of Astoria Greengrass and Draco Malfoy. The announcement was to be made soon, so the mother of the groom-to-be found her son.

Draco had tried to be civil with his betrothed earlier that night, but she had just shrugged him off and went on her way. Draco only had time enough to comment on how nice her dress looked on her, it was a light blue and it went well with her chestnut-colored hair. He had found Blaise Zabini later, standing by the liquor and partaking, so they had started up a conversation, mostly business and a bit of Quidditch. Blaise had brought up the unpleasant business with Pansy. Draco had assured him that it was fine. He hadn't felt very strongly towards her, she was good for a snog but that was about it. Then his mother had butt in.

"Draco, dear, could you find Astoria for me? I can't find her anywhere and her father wants to make the announcement soon."

"You remember Blaise Zabini, don't you mother?" Draco gestured to his longtime friend.

"Yes, yes, you're engaged to the Parkinson girl." Narcissa said to Blaise before turning back to her son. "Please, Draco, find her and bring her to her father. It is vastly important that we make the announcement tonight."

Draco sighed, finished his scotch, and went off to find that troublesome woman. He was dressed in a black suit, a royal blue dress shirt that was unbuttoned as he hated ties, with patent leather shoes. He exited the ballroom as he was sure that would have been where his mother would have already looked. He checked the kitchen, full of busy house elves preparing h'orderves and filling flutes of champagne, but no Greengrass. Draco swiped a flute and continued on his search.

She wasn't on the ground floor at least. Draco climbed the stairs, a bit unevenly. A night of scotch and champagne was taking its toll now. He continued along, he was about to check the guest bedrooms when he heard a soft sigh. His eyes shot to the sound, it made him horribly dizzy, to find a light blue figure sitting on the terrace. He pushed open the French doors and stepped onto the balcony.

"Are you ready to rejoin the party?" Draco said aloofly.

"Oh," She sniffled and wiped her eye before turning to her fiancée, "oh, if it isn't Prince Jerkoff! Here to whisk me off to Arsehole manor?"

She was obviously very upset and tipsy was speaking generously. But Draco wasn't known for his merciful behavior.

"I never said anything about being a prince." He took a step towards her, "And if I was going to whisk you to anywhere, it would be to here. Can I take a seat?" He sat on the wooden two seater, next to her.

"Whatever…" She took a swig from a bottle of Firewhiskey she had pilfered from somewhere, probably the study.

"You really shouldn't have taken _that_ bottle. It's an anniversary draught; Gladsmith Ogden delivered it himself to my great grandfather."

"Like I give shit!" She yelled at him, Draco's expression didn't change. He didn't really care about the liquor. Firewhiskey doesn't age in a bottle.

"Why, may I ask, are you in such a tizzy?" He finished his champagne and set the flute on the stone floor.

"Because I have to marry some phi-philand-cheating arse, instead of a man I love!" She was now yelling when there was no need, well, she did polish off a bottle of a hundred and fifty year old Firewhiskey.

"I understand." Draco leaned back on the seat.

"Then call this thing off! You don't like me anyways. You'd just shag skanks behind my back."

"No." Draco looked her in the eyes, "I'm not going to."

"What? Why!"

"I'm not the boy you knew, Greengrass. We already gave your family our word and-"

"I don't give a shit! I don't want to marry you! I don't want your bastard children! I hate you..." Astoria began to sniffle again.

"Yeah, I realized that. I'm going back. I'll have an elf attend to you."

"Fine…" She placed the bottle next to her, almost knocking it over.

"I do like you." Draco said before leaving the terrace, he'd just make the announcement without her. She would have preferred it that way.

**Ginny Weasley**

**31 August 1998**

**11:29PM**

The gentle rocking of her lover, the light squeaks of the box springs, her own soft whines reaching a crescendo, it was a quiet symphony. The summer air stung her sweat-streaming skin as he pounded into her. Her muscles clenched as her mind imploded. By the time she had returned to Earth, Harry had rolled over and was off to sleep.

It was the night before they returned to Hogwarts. Well, her, Ron, and Hermione. Harry was still adamant about not going back, that was part of why she was currently in Twelve Grimmauld Place, the other was she wanted to spend some 'quality time' with her boyfriend. The approved reason was she wanted to get to Kings Cross early, as Grimmauld Place was about twenty minutes away and the Weasley's were notorious for being late. It had been difficult even when she had gone last year.

Ginny was a bit disappointed. Harry had been more withdrawn since the trial. She chalked it up to feeling guilty about Hermione's episode and his subsequent fission with her parents. She had wanted to tell him that it was alright, that they'd understand, but since the dishes had been put away, it had been a flurry of clothes and naked bodies. Now he was asleep and she was wide awake. She sighed, slid her feet out from under the sheets, and got out of the bed.

She went down the stairs, carefully in the dark. There was a pop in her ear and Kreacher was in front of her. He was still a stooping cretin, but he seemed happy to be serving a Black again.

"Why is Weasy girl awake? What does she want?"

"I was going to fix myself some tea."

"Allow me, miss." Kreacher turned with a pop and he was in the kitchen.

'_Little git didn't even ask me if it was alright. He better not poison it._' The others had said that Kreacher had changed, that he just wanted a bit of love, but Ginny really didn't like him. She'd get used to him, but for now, he was on a short leash.

The tea was good. She couldn't deny it. It wasn't oversteeped and it didn't have the metallic taste that the water at home had, it wasn't scalding hot or lukewarm. It was like the tea in the adverts of the Prophet, a soft wisp of steam and welcoming aroma. She was usually as much of a fiend as her brother for sugary tea, but she felt bashful under Kreacher's watchful eye. Though it didn't seem to need it, it tasted heavenly. She was happy to drink in silence, the faint whistle of the silver kettle in the background, but Kreacher spoke up.

"Miss. You are spending the night with Master."

Ginny quickly blushed, had he seen? '_The little pervert._'

"Are you going to be joining the House?" Kreacher questioned, he almost looked hopeful.

"Someday, Kreacher." She poured herself another cup, watching as the leaves steeped. "That might be a little ways off."

"And that means a new little Master to care for and watch after!" The little maniac began to clap and laugh, though it was horribly dry.

"Shh! Shh! Kreacher, Harry is sleeping. Stay quiet."

Kreacher covered his mouth and returned to being seen and not heard. Then it hit her as to what Kreacher was celebrating, he was expecting children. Her face blushed horribly, Harry and she hadn't even talked about what they were going to be doing after she graduated, and children hadn't even come up.

She finished her cup, thanked Kreacher, and went back to bed. As she watched Harry's bare chest rise and fall, smatterings of curse marks were shining in the moonlight, she wished for him to be awake. She wanted to be held by him, to tell him how much she loved him, maybe have a quick shag. But that could wait until the morning. Maybe they'd have a bit of time then.

**Hermione Granger**

**1 September 1998**

**11:08AM**

Hermione had missed it. The soft rocking of the train, the happy bickering of first years, the stale smell of leather, the ride on the Hogwarts Express was… magical. She couldn't think of a better word, even with her vast lexicon. Now those familiar and endearing sensations had been joined by the warmth of Ron's hand and the slight scent of chocolate he gave off.

They were enjoying the blurring images of the speeding scenery on their window. She remembered her first trip on the bewitched train and how frightened she was. The slight rocking that she now felt was comforting and nostalgic, then made her horribly nauseous. Attempting to soothe her nausea by looking out the window, watching the trees and landscape whiz by, only exacerbated an inkling of homesickness. Thank Merlin for a chubby little wizard named Neville.

The door slammed open and in stomped a put-out looking Ginny Weasley. Hermione thought to ask what was bothering her friend; it must have been something her parents had said. They had swallowed her up as soon as she had arrived at the platform, asking why she was so late, and if she had eaten well. Hermione looked at her watch and realized it was time for the Prefects meeting.

"Ron, we have to go." She nudged the boy in the ribs.

"Ow, what'd you do that for?" Ron whined as he rubbed his rib.

"We have to go for the Prefects meeting."

"Oh, yeah. Let me get the papers." Ron shuffled through his bag, pulling out a small stack of paper.

"We'll see you in a bit. Okay, Ginny?" Hermione said as she hugged Ron's sister.

"Sure, good luck in your meeting."

Ron did the same and they left together. They went down the halls, their badges clipped to their clothes, on the breast pockets of Hermione's white button-up and Ron's brown knit jacket. They arrived in the compartment near the front of the train quickly, most of the first years had already settled and the trolley would be moving about soon. Ron opened the door, Hermione preceded him.

"Fashionably late, I see." One of the Slytherin Prefects said off-handedly, Astoria Greengrass, she guessed.

Ron shot her a look, but Hermione took it upon herself.

"We were towards the back of the train and we are on time, though I regret to have kept you all waiting." She held out her hand to Ron who handed her the load of papers. She, in turn, handed those out to the prefects. "Now if I could get to the business at hand."

While Hermione went over who would be patrolling with whom and where they would be stationed, she took note of who was there. Ron had done it based on house, they didn't have a roster, and Hermione thought that was a very intuitive way of setting it up. Prefects would be less partial to their own house. Ron had done most of the work. Hermione only copied it down for everyone and added a few tweaks to make it fairer to Slytherins, as she didn't want them to feel victimized.

"Alright, so Greengrass and Macmillan will monitor the last car. Lovegood and Abbott will take the fourth car," Ron handed out the train assignments, most of which would be used for the actual assignments. "And, finally, Hermione and I will be in charge of the head car after visiting with Head Mistress McGonagall."

There was a bit of murmuring from the Slytherin prefects but everyone else seemed happy, except for Macmillan who was obviously peeved to be set with a Slytherin. Ron opened the door, the other prefects filtered out until it was just the two of them and then they headed to the front to meet with McGonagall, hand in hand. Ron held the door to the Mistress's compartment and they filed in as she stood. Hermione noticed her eyes focus on something between them. '_Oh, Merlin!_' Hermione quickly dropped Ron's hand.

"I hope you and Mister Weasley can remember that the privileges of being Head Boy and Girl are not to be abused, Miss Granger." A wry smile on her thin, aged lips.

"O-of course, Head Mistress." Hermione muttered. Ron was confused.

"Your first meeting went well?"

"Yes. We already handed out assignments and schedules for patrols."

"Oh, really now?" The transfiguration professor said with a look of surprise, often schedules took a few days to assemble as they were based on personnel.

"Yes, Ron set up a simple system that was based on houses and self-policing. I took some measures to make sure the Slytherin students wouldn't feel isolated in their duties." Ron nodded in agreement.

"Good work, Mister Weasley. Well, I wish you both the best of luck in the coming school year. You may go back to your patrols."

"Thank you, Professor McGonagall." They said successively, Ron almost forgot and they left the compartment and began patrolling.

After patrolling for a few hours, they returned to their compartment. Ron was starving and Hermione was desperate to talk with Ginny about whatever was bothering her. Ron opened the door and there was Ginny arguing with a blond haired Ravenclaw.

"-And I bet you won't even make one snitch grab this season, Weasley."

"So, says the girl who hasn't even scored since her second year."

"Whatever, we'll settle this on the pitch." The girl stood and marched out of the compartment, squeezing between Hermione and Ron.

"Who the hell was that?" Ron asked, taking a seat. "But more importantly, did you buy any food? I'm starving."

"There are some chocolate frogs left, here." Ginny handed her brother a few small cardboard boxes. "And that was Elizabeth Morce, a sixth year Ravenclaw. She plays Chaser, sometimes we get into it. I hate her."

"That's too bad. You both play, you could be good friends." Hermione said as she sat down, Ron was busy catching and eating charmed chocolate, so she had to maintain the conversation.

"She wants to play for Holyhead, too. So, I'm a rival to her and she isn't exactly looking for friends."

"That's too bad…" Hermione said with a weak smile. "I should get changed soon."

Ron's ears perked at that.

"That means you have to leave Ron." Hermione said in a serious tone. He left with his robes and a mouthful of chocolate.

**6:05PM**

The brakes screeched, the steady chug of the train slowed and ended as it pulled into the station. There was a collective shriek from most of the cars, likely aimed at the monstrosities chained to the carriages. Thestials, known to be invisible except by those who had seen death, whom were a scant few among Wizarding Britain these days, were neighing and chewing at the bit to return to their stables, the students were similarly anxious. Hermione sighed after looking out the window, it was already looking to be a difficult year.

"Ron, go tell the older students to explain that Thestials are not aggressive. We need to get the first years to the boats."

Ron nodded from looking over her shoulder. He left the compartment and headed down the hall to spread the instructions. She pulled their trunks down and went to gather first years.


	5. Mushaboom

**Shoutout to Guitargirl222 and etrenholm.**

_**Feist- Mushaboom**_

_**Helping the kids out of their coats  
>But wait the babies haven't been born<br>Unpacking the bags and setting up  
>And planting lilacs and buttercups<strong>_

_**But in the meantime I've got it hard  
>Second floor living without a yard<br>It may be years until the day  
>My dreams will match up with my pay<strong>_

_**Old dirt road  
>Knee deep snow<br>Watching the fire as we grow old**_

_**I got a man to stick it out  
>And make a home from a rented house<br>And we'll collect the moments one by one  
>I guess that's how the future's done<strong>_

_**How many acres how much light  
>Tucked in the woods and out of sight<br>Talk to the neighbours and tip my cap  
>On a little road barely on the map<strong>_

_**Old dirt road  
>Knee deep snow<br>Watching the fire as we grow old  
>Old dirt road<br>Rambling rose  
>Watching the fire as we grow well I'm sold<strong>_

**Ron Weasley**

**21 October 1998 (Wednesday)**

**8:39PM**

He stood on the stone stairway, and his hair was still a bit damp from a hot shower, watching as Hermione slowly drove herself rabid on the couch. They had quite a bit on their plates lately with the Halloween party, the NEWTs coursework, and the disciplinary duties; filing point deductions and detention requests. Ron walked over to her, sitting close to her but not close enough to touch.

"Let me take some of those point deductions." Hermione looked up, a bit shocked to see those Weasley blue eyes.

"No, no, I've got it." Ron looked at the pile of papers, at least half as thick as a textbook.

"Come on, if I don't help you'll be working until dawn." He reached for a handful of papers and _accioed_ a quill. "It's my duty as Head Boy anyways."

Hermione gave a soft whine, part of her wanting to reject his help, while the other wanted the help desperately. Ron smiled to himself, he was happy that he had won the 'discussion', that's what she liked to call their rows sometimes. He got to work, checking that the point deduction wasn't excessive, correcting it if it was, and then validating it.

They finished around midnight. Ron finished his last one and slapped it unto the stack to be turned into McGonagall the next morning. Hermione was finishing her last one, and Ron put his chin on her exposed shoulder.

"Stop it…" She warned lightly. She hated when his bit of stubble tickled her, but he didn't move. "Come now, Ron. I'm almost finished, we can fool around later."

"What? You just assume I want to get in your knickers?" Ron sat up, trying his best to look hurt.

"You don't?" She gave him a very unconvinced look.

"Oh, I do. I just wish it was more of a surprise." He gave a cheeky grin.

Hermione swished her signature on the form and slipped it into the pile. Ron took her delicate chin in his hand, turning her face towards him before planting a kiss on her lips. Her teeth gently bit his bottom lip as he came up for air. She knew how that drove him crazy. But just as he was about to make a move to formalize his aggression, she pushed away gently.

"What is it?" Ron said in a low rumble, his attempt at being sexy.

"We have a Charms test tomorrow!" Hermione said as she stood up and ran for her room. "Good night, Ron!"

Ron sighed as he lay back on the couch, his long arms running across the back of it. As far as their relationship had gone in the past year, Ron knew Hermione's priorities were all academic. He sorted the point deduction forms and put them into a file for Hermione to hand over in the morning. He'd look over his notes before he turned in for bed.

**Harry Potter**

**5 November 1998 (Thursday)**

**10:00AM**

Harry rolled out of the linen sheets of his super king sized four post bed. It felt very lonely, especially without Ginny nuzzling his chest and trying to push him off the edge as he slept. He had tried to sleep in one of the small guest beds, but Kreacher had pulled him out of the bed by his feet. The elf had said he meant to do it while he slept, but it was obvious that he wanted his young master to learn a lesson the hard way.

He slipped on one of his only nice dress shirts, the rest had been hand-me-downs from the Weasleys or strange colours, such as yellow or purple. He had some trouble with the buttons as most men have with a new shirt, as he was not sure of the size and shape of the buttons and their holes. But soon enough he was dressed in a button-up, a warm sweater, and a pair of dress slacks.

He headed down to the kitchen, where Kreacher would have a hot cup of tea and toast with butter and preserves ready for him. Harry had had to instruct Kreacher not to make more than that unless asked directly. He had an appointment most days; with a member of the press, Kingsley, or an Auror academy's Headmaster and the floo was very uncomfortable on a full stomach.

Today wasn't much different, he was going to visit Galway Academy today and have lunch with the Headmaster. It was one of the most prestigious Auror academies in Europe. So far he hadn't been impressed by any one school, they'd all offered him full scholarship and guaranteed his acceptance; Lancashire had even offered him a graduate student teaching position. They were quickly placed on the bottom of the pile.

"What is Master wanting for breakfast today?" A hopeful look glinted in his dull blue eyes.

"Tea and toast with butter and preserves on the side, same as usual, Kreacher." Harry smiled but Kreacher stomped off, a grimace on his face.

Harry Potter picked up that morning's copy of the Prophet. The front page story was about some new tax Kingsley was going to be placing on racing broomsticks. Harry didn't take notice, paying taxes was as much a part of being British as afternoon tea. It was understandable, Voldemort had destroyed a lot of infrastructure, scared off (or worse) a lot of business owners, and there was quite a bit of debt, from Voldemort's government and Kingsley's measures to increase the number of Aurors that were trained and ultimately hired, and that wasn't going to just disappear. Most of the country was fine with paying a few Knuts more here or there, as long as it meant returning to normalcy.

The plate clattered before his paper. Harry was sure that the plate had cracked, if not broken. He folded the paper and put it on the dining table he was sitting at and he began buttering one slice of toast as Kreacher returned with his tea. Kreacher's near-permanent scowl remained, contorted in dissatisfaction.

"Thank you, Kreacher." The elf began to head back to the kitchen to sulk before beginning to dust the big empty house. "Wait a minute, Kreacher." The elf stopped in his tracks as if petrified, he looked over his emaciated shoulder.

"I have an appointment for lunch today, and I don't think that I will be back until five o'clock. Have a bath ready and dinner should be ready within an hour."

"What would you like Kreacher make for supper, Master Potter?" His voice strained, waiting for the unassuming request for a sandwich; Swiss cheese, mustard, lettuce and a slice of roast beef and nothing more. The elf hated his master's simple requests, it felt like a disservice.

"I am not sure. Make whatever you feel necessary, but remember that I will be dining alone tonight. You may go." He began spooning sugar into his tea.

"O-of course, Master." Kreacher tried to hold back his excitement, his master was giving him a blank check. He didn't want to seem too eager, but as he re-entered the kitchen, Harry definitely heard more than a few cheers of joy.

**12:20PM**

The rain was incessant in Ireland. Harry had floo'd to the school's Administration building, a glamour charm was used to make it seem like a run-down, squatter's dwelling, but it was a rather respectable once you were inside. Dark hardwood floors, matching desks for the faculty, and cream-coloured walls, framed pictures of the graduating classes back to 1902, though they were magical photos, the graduates stood very still, occasionally one of them would cough or adjust their cap.

Harry approached the receptionist, a young woman. The name plate on her desk said 'Ms. Harper.'

"Excuse me, Miss Harper?" the woman looked up from her paperwork, a stoic look on her bespectacled face. "I have an appointment with Headmaster Mastif for 12:30."

"Mister Potter?" Harry nodded, expecting some outpouring of reverence. "This way, please."

The woman stood, straightened her pencil skirt, and began towards a set of spiral stairs. Harry followed behind, though watching his feet as he ascended. Miss Harper continued down a hall to a door, the words 'Hendrick Mastiff' and 'Headmaster' were stenciled on the glass window. She knocked gingerly.

"Yes?" A low grumble ran through the door.

"Mister Potter is here for your lunch appointment, Headmaster."

"Send him in, Mary." The woman opened the door for him, and Harry entered after silently thanking her.

"Mister Potter, how are you?" A large hand extended itself over a desk to the young man before him. It was attached to rather a long, thin arm and a tree trunk of a body. The man must have been close to seven feet tall. He had hard brown eyes, almost black, a trimmed short beard and a shaggy head of black hair, the occasional speck of grey throughout.

"I am well, Headmaster." He expected for the man to correct him, to ask him to call him 'Mastiff' or even 'Hendrick'.

"I think it would be wise to begin the tour, we will eat after that business is done." Harry nodded.

The man flipped his wand, a few papers flew into a file and the file then floated up and wedged itself in the shelf behind him. Mastiff stood, taking a trench coat from off its hook on the door, and they entered the hall.

"Galway Academy was founded in 1792, it was then known as National Auror Academy of Ireland. Since then we have been dedicated to developing and honing young wizards and witches to been decorated Aurors and respected members of Wizarding society." He led Harry to a set of stairs that they began to climb. "The faculty members all have offices in this building. There is a lecture hall on the third floor that is rarely used after Orientation as most training will take place on-site"

The Headmaster continued as they entered the lecture hall, "Most of your first year's training will be physical conditioning, combat training, and magical theory. There will be examinations every month after the first two months, a selection process to slim the ranks after every two examinations."

"Why is that sir?" Harry hadn't heard anything about 'selection processes at any of the other academies.

"Well, even with the raised quotas for graduates from the Ministry, they still have to pass the same examinations." The man gripped the edges of the podium, towering over it like a gargoyle. "In response, some other institutions have opted to not thin the herd during their applicants' first year of training, leading to more graduates, but ultimately more failures. We are retaining our selection process, it has created some of the best Aurors in Wizarding history, and we believe that trend will continue."

Harry nodded in understanding.

"Now, I think I've sufficiently scared you." Mastiff turned away from Harry, who began to followed, the man's long gait carrying him quickly away. "We should leave for lunch."

**1:00PM**

The two men sat in a private booth in a pub, the red and white painted sign said 'The Fourteen Tribes' in a showy Gaelic font, in magical Galway. The man, Harry would swear he was at least as much of a giant as Hagrid though much leaner, was nursing a pint of Guinness as they sat in silence.

"So, about your coursework-" The man held out a hand, it hovered inches from Harry's face, from above.

"Please, Mister Potter, nothing about the Academy. This is lunch. I think it'd be wise to discuss more personal matters."

Here it was. The man was going to try to weasel out a nugget of gossip for the Prophet or some other rag.

"I'm sure you have some questions for me. Like my large size or something else of that capacity."

Harry sat a bit stunned, his jaw had been set to discourage any prying by the Headmaster, who now seemed to be welcoming a bit of inquiry. "If it wouldn't be rude, I wouldn't mind knowing. Are you also a half-giant?"

"Also?"

"A friend of mine, Rubeus Hagrid, is a half-giant. I was under the impression that half-giants were seen as lesser wizards, by the Ministry and such."

"Well, I'm not a half-giant. It's a bit of family history that. My ancestor, Gregorious Mastin captured a giantess in the 1700s and attempted to… culture her, when that failed, he freed her but kept a child she had. Of course, he denied the giant child was his but he gave him a name, John Mastiff, who he raised like a son. After his 'caretaker' died, John was a bit of a freak, he'd be invited to dinner parties only to be chided and laughed at."

"That's awful." Harry took a sip of Firewhiskey, the pub didn't have Butterbeer.

"It is, Harry. But, a woman took pity on this loathsome creature, Priscilla McDermott. Their child was a strong, tall, handsome, wealthy wizard, Patrick McDermott Mastiff, pursued by every lord in the land for their daughter. It seems that people don't mind the giant blood after it's down to about a quarter." He took a long drink from the dark draught. "Instead of a Lady, he married a witch he loved, though she was poor, uneducated, and dirty, his mother and father supported him. After six generations like that, the Mastiff family lobbied the Ministry for the status of 'Pureblood'. As much as I would think that shallow and unnecessary if done today, I can't underestimate the effect it had my own life. It would have been much harder to be the Headmaster of any institution with a letter from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures attached."

Harry nodded, "Hagrid worked for decades at Hogwarts and finally got a job as a Professor in my third year, almost as soon as he had it, people tried to strip it from him. You're very lucky, sir."

"We all are, Harry." He took another sip, "Where is our food?"

**Ginny Weasley**

**3 December 1998 (Thursday)**

**9:23AM**

"What do you want, Morce?"

Ginny was eating breakfast alone, she didn't have a class yet and her brother and Hermione were off taking care of something. Elizabeth Morce, known as Lizzy to her friends, but Ginny was not her friend, stood on the other side of the table, staring down her nose at the youngest Weasley.

"Nothing from you, Ginerva." Morce knew how much Ginny's given name bothered her. "I just wanted to make sure you're ready to get your smug little ass handed to you this weekend."

Ginny looked up, which she had avoided doing, to the sixth year. It was true that the Gryffindor team was on a down year, the other chasers were average at best and Ginny was going to be forced to pick up the Seeking duties if they wanted any chance at the Cup, but Ginny's pride wouldn't let Elizabeth's words pass.

"Are you going to do something, Morce? I really don't have much patience for a lot of talk from you." Ginny stood up, slamming her hands on the table, scaring some chatting first years down the table. "Do you actually think I'm scared of you?"

"You had better be, Weasley." The Ravenclaw spun on her heel and walked out of the Great Hall.

"What is it about Ravenclaws that gets me so riled?" Ginny muttered to herself as she sat back down to finish eating. "Maybe Luna would know."

**5 December 1998 (Saturday)**

**9:53AM**

Ginny had shed her uniform as soon as the door had closed on the locker room, Ron started shouting at underclassmen to cover their damn eyes or he'd gouge them out. She was excited, she had gotten a letter from Harry that he'd come to the Quidditch match.

She had caught the Snitch, right under that Ravenclaw's studious nose, and now she was going to walk around campus with her boyfriend. They'd talk about the match; this was the first time he had seen her seek, and his Auror training, how much he missed her, and maybe finds a cozy closet to snog in. Her head was getting all fuzzy just thinking about it. She quickly showered and put on a fresh pair of clothes; a red pullover and a black knee-length skirt.

Exiting the locker room, already at a full stride, Ginny looked down the hall, right, then left, and right again. There was no scruffy head of black hair, no lightning bolt scar. Ginny followed the hall, maybe he was waiting on the pitch, reliving some kind of school day glory. No, he wasn't there either. '_Did he not show up?'_ She left, up to Gryffindor tower, she flopped onto her bed. Tears stinging at her eyes, she was so confused. '_What does this mean? Was he too busy? Does he not love me anymore?_' She thought.

She heard a loud pecking at the window. '_Why would an owl be at the window? _' It was a reasonable question as usually owls rested in the Owlery before their morning deliveries. Ginny sat up and walked over to the window, letting in the Little Dutch Owl. She petted it; the little thing gave a diminutive squawk. She pulled a scroll of parchment from the owl's leg.

_Ginny,_

_I wanted to be there to see you fly so badly, I'm sure you were brilliant. I'll make sure to always catch your games with Holyhead on the wireless, I swear._

_The Auror Department has caught another crop of Deatheaters and the Ministry needed me to deliver an address. I hated it, so don't be too mad, I've already been punished. I saw Arthur and we had a nice chat, I'm glad as I was worried as to whether or not Mum would want me over for Christmas._

_Ever Apologetic,_

_Harry James Potter_

'_Burk…' _Ginny sighed as she got ready to go back to the common room, she was sure there'd be an amazing party that night. The girlfriend of the great Harry Potter didn't get sole ownership.

**Draco Malfoy**

**27 January 2004**

**2:20PM**

Draco had never really understood the appeal of children. They were messy, boorish, and loud. His views were now, sadly, being vindicated. Blaise and Pansy had come to visit, their little blob of snot and shit in tow and making his presence known, fussing up a storm as the four friends sat in the new parents' sitting room. They were celebrating the move from Blaise's mother's home into a manor a few hours outside Falmouth.

"He's usually such a doll, he must be tired." Pansy said before turning back to the bundle of 'joy', trying to decipher the babe's horrible cries.

"We could get an elf to take him." Astoria, his wife, offered.

"No, thank you. We are trying to raise him to be comfortable with us." Zabini said as he took a sip of scotch. "Maybe he needs to be changed?"

"No, we changed him before lunch." She lifted the little Zabini up and gave him a whiff.

"That's right."

"Maybe he's hungry?"

That wasn't the first time Draco had seen Pansy's breasts, but it did have a certain impact. Astoria cleared her throat loudly, as she noticed Draco's gaze. He looked to her and gave her a sheepish smile, she just torqued an eyebrow. The baby, Clovis, latched for milk.

"So, how has life been for you three?" Astoria offered, the Zabinis had come up for a late lunch and they were now just having a pleasant chat, or at least they had been trying to.

"Exhausting, we still get woken up by the little guy two times a night." Blaise massaged the bridge of his nose, though Pansy was the one who did the feedings at night, but she was too busy to correct him. "But it's worth it, you just look at the little guy smiling up at you and you have this feeling of absolution."

Draco highly doubted that, he still felt guilty from time to time. Azkaban did that, and it had done it to him very effectively. There was the occasional nightmare, a crushing sense of guilt and anxiety as he lay awake next to his peacefully sleeping wife. He didn't think a crying little monster could help that.

"We've been trying" Draco looked at her. They hadn't been trying to make a child to his knowledge. This was one of those situations where a woman says _'we'_ when they mean _'I'_. "But it hasn't been going very well."

"Oh" Pansy redid her blouse, as Clovis was full, quiet, and looked about ready to sleep. "Well, the most important thing isn't to put unneeded pressure on yourselves. Pureblooded couples have a lot of difficulties with children."

Astoria frowned, obviously disappointed to not have a baby of her own. Draco was watching her out the corner of his eye, a little bit of pain in his heart. He took sip of scotch, the warm burn in his mouth contrasting with the tightness in his chest.

"We should put him down, Pansy. He can take a rest now." Blaise offered, his wife nodded, and they stood to leave. Pansy held the baby's sparsely haired head to her breast, her manicured nails absently running over his scalp. "If you'll excuse us."

Draco nodded to them as they left. As soon as he was sure that they were out of ear shot, he began talking.

"You didn't tell me you wanted children." He said simply, taking another sip of the Scottish whiskey.

"Well, of course, we are trying to have a child. It is part of the marriage agreement." Her eyes went to her hands, which were now busying themselves with a loose string on her dress.

"You never said you _wanted_ children." Draco said again, like a lecturer repeating the date of an important event in history.

"We-well it wouldn't be too bad, right? Having a little boy or girl toddling around the Manor, taking them out into the garden, and watching them chase those blasted peacocks, that doesn't sound that bad." Then she looked Draco straight into his silvery eyes. "Does it?"

Draco maintained eye contact for a while, but then his eyes slowly drifted away, as if he was bored with Astoria. He finished the whiskey, slowly bringing the Steuben from his lips.

"Do you think I am cut out to be a father?" He said, looking straight ahead.

"What?" Astoria looked to him.

"Would I be any good at it?" He turned to look at her, a sullen look in his eyes. "Or would I just fuck it all up?"

Draco felt the soft touch of his once reluctant wife on this hand, her fingers trying to intertwine with his. Her warmth spilled into his calloused palm and she gave him a tender smile.

"I think you would be an amazing father, dear." He saw in her caramel eyes that that was the truth.

**9:00PM**

Draco and Blaise were sitting in the Zabini's study, drinking a cognac, and relaxing after a good dinner. Blaise had a rather smug look on his face, but Draco supposed that's just how fathers tended to look. Then his school mate, removing his leg from his knee to plant both Italian loafers on the antique Savonnerie carpet.

"So… How'd your little talk with Astoria go?" Zabini's Cheshire cat grin, something that Draco had found humorous and playful as a boy, now seemed to be a horribly mean-spirited.

Draco took a long drink of cognac, anything to avoid answering.

"Wi-Will I be a good daddy, 'Storia?" Zabini said in a squeaky voice, supposedly to mimic Draco, pouting his lip.

"Fuck you, mate." Draco sighed after he finished his drink.

"Well, I'm glad you are thinking about children, but you might want to involve Astoria, not me." Blaise snickered lightly.

"So, how'd you hear me?" He set his glass on the floating silver salver.

"Baby-monitoring charm, it helps us keep an eye on Clovis, but it goes both ways. I think it's great." He took another sip of his drink and flipped his wand; the Stueben poured Draco another one.

"Pansy heard it, too? Is she giving Astoria the same treatment?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, she did. But she wouldn't do that, she was thinking up baby names as soon as Astoria told us." Blaise smiled, he loved his wife but she was baby crazy.

"That's horribly sexist." Draco gave a smirk.

"You love it, Draco." Blaise rose his glass.

"I guess I do." Draco tapped his glass to his friend's, "Cheers, mate."

**A/N: I just want to talk about Harry missing Ginny's game, the only one he would have been able to see as he will begin attending Galway after the Winter holidays, Harry has never really been a 'boyfriend' to Ginny. He's been in a relationship with her, but he's been fighting Voldemort and trying to keep her safe. Now that is over and he has to have priorities; is his career going to dominate their life together or is Harry going to make time for his home life? **

**I had more planned for this chapter, this is like half of my outline, but I wanted to get something out for my fans. I'll be going back to Keep Calm after this is up. Expect a very special chapter.**


End file.
